by Charlot King
All at once Elizabeth, able to talk about the case again, stops what she’s doing.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. She was very teary, as one would expect. Though also very jumpy when I told her I thought Edward didn’t die from drowning. Even a tad argumentative. Phoned the police afterwards. Pointed the finger at a woman who used to date Edward. As much as accused her of having the motive. Bit quick, don’t you think? To process everything. Most people would still be in shock, not thinking straight. Something’s not right there. Maybe not right with their marriage, that she’s not letting on. And if you’re someone who wants to stay around you use poison on your victim and not use a gun or knife, with all that traceable blood and weapon hiding issues. Poison is the sneaky way to kill someone right under peoples’ noses. It also works if you’re too small to kill your victim.” Elizabeth looks at Godric for his agreement. Godric, however, has other news.
“You know what’s really weird? When I was upstairs in my bedroom I saw this person, standing watching the frogmen from the other side of the river for a bit, you know by the tennis courts on Jesus Green. I didn’t see their face, as they were just that bit too far away. But I could tell they were watching. They stood there for ages. Perhaps twenty minutes, not moving, just facing the house.”
“People are nosey, Godric. There is nothing strange about that. That child in the fountain, however, that is not on. I will have to let the park keeper know. Oh dear, what is he doing?”
Elizabeth bangs on the window at the parents who have let their little toddler son climb into the garden fountain, disturbing all the lilies and frog spawn. But they don’t hear. Godric is not content to leave his own story there, however, as he wants his nanna’s opinion, having been a trifle spooked.
“Yes, but they were taking photographs. They had their camera on a neck strap. It was a long lens. I could see the size of it from my window. I think it was a man.”
Elizabeth answers Godric, but her attention is still on the little boy splashing about in the fountain.
“Bit morbid I suppose. All those men in the water could have brought something up at any moment. Perhaps a newspaper photographer?”
“No, not photos of the frogmen. Of me. They were pointing the camera into my bedroom. I was looking at them, and they were looking at me. It gave me the heebie jeebies.”
Elizabeth agrees this is a little odd and turns to look at Godric. But Godric is already leaving the glasshouse, disappointed he hasn’t been given permission to drive the family car, but at least reassured that Elizabeth is okay for now.
Shortly after, Elizabeth packs up what she is doing as she knows she is getting nowhere in the glasshouse this morning. Talking to the plants, she hangs up her apron. “You’ll have to wait.” She is more determined to find Edward’s killer, even if she has to go behind Abley’s back. He’ll thank her for it later. He always does. Why can’t it be easier, why can’t he need her? Why can’t anyone need her? It would appear this morning that even Godric is only after the car. But before she leaves she goes outside, walks over to the fountain and has strong words with the parents, whose toddler is promptly lifted out and starts to cry.
15. Chesterton
Elizabeth has left the glasshouses in the Botanic Gardens and is cycling across Jesus Green, past the huge lines of tall Maples, tennis courts and outdoor swimming pool. She crosses Victoria Avenue, heads towards the Fort St. George pub and onto Midsummer Common, backing down as it does to the river, lined with rowing clubs and boat houses. This is Elizabeth’s most favourite common, open to the sky, surrounded by trees. She soon leaves it behind, however, and heads for Chesterton on a mission, her curls spewing out the sides of her bright yellow cycle helmet, her linen coat flapping. She whisks past people eating lunches on the river bank, solitary scullers working their way down to Fen Ditton, and an industrial sized lawn mower wafting summer smells of cut grass. Elizabeth wants to pay a visit to spurned ex-girlfriend, Susan Bunt, of whom Rebecca Wiley spoke earlier. Even if it was a ruse to deflect attention from herself, it worked as Rebecca has pricked Elizabeth’s interest. Susan may know something. What if she isn’t friendly? What if she is actually the murderer? Should Elizabeth have told Godric where she is going? No, it will be fine. She can handle herself, and after all, anyone who is an ex-girlfriend of Edward can’t be that hard to deal with. Edward was one of the gentlest of spirits in her whole department. Elizabeth reflects back on her conversation with Godric. He was really only coming to see if she was okay this morning. Had she been too mean about the Talbot? She knows Gerald would have wanted him to use it, but somehow Elizabeth still can’t bear to see the car on the road without Gerald in it, as this would be another glaring fact that he is gone. Gerald had started to drift away from her and now the only thing that remained were fading memories. She sensed she was getting something wrong about Edward’s death, felt she was missing a clue. If only Gerald was here. Elizabeth starts to talk to him.
“Rebecca was so bitter about Susan. I feel like I am being set up, coming to see Susan like this.”
Elizabeth passes a couple of lovers holding hands who have been watching her talk to herself as she cycles towards them on the river path. Unbothered, Elizabeth smiles and carries on talking. “On the other hand, Jonathan is a classic murderer. Arrogant, angry, with such narcissistic qualities. And this murder feels planned, Gerald, don’t you think?”
Elizabeth continues on along Riverside, leaving the centre now, passing moored canal boats, rusty houseboats, scattered recycled debris, dogs barking. On the top deck of an old lifeboat stands an impromptu work of art. Two Barbie dolls sitting on miniature deck chairs under a toy sized parasol, all propped up on a makeshift toy bath boat on top of a houseboat deck. At the start of Stourbridge Common, trees begin to take hold of the view, met by tall grasses, as this stretch of the river is left for the cattle, whose heads dip almost permanently grazing, save for the odd check for stranger danger. Elizabeth gets off her bicycle and walks over the Green Dragon Bridge by the public house of the same name. She stops at the top of the brow to look up and down the river, bemused more people don’t do the same, instead choosing to hurry past, not noticing the willow trees kissing the water and river banks touching the horizon. She used to sit and drink cold cider with Gerald sometimes on The Green Dragon’s river front, when they were younger. These days you’re hard pressed to find a table, it is so popular. She doesn’t go anymore, though is reliably informed the beer is still cold, the service warm, and there are always swans up on the bank to hiss at you for your ploughman’s. A little further down river, overlooking Stourbridge Common, is a pub, The Pike & Eel, so close to Elizabeth’s heart that it aches with hurt to see it now closed and derelict. She remembers taking this route to Fen Road so many times and many moons ago, to take a break from her doctorate. She’d step out onto the grass and sit on benches to eat her supper, sharing it with the ducks and sunset. Now forlorn, with its fate unknown, just a shell of a building holding the conversations of people and memories past. When all that goes, only the echoes of a disappearing community will hang in the air where the penny ferry slopes hint at past trips to the largest common in Cambridge. Elizabeth feels the chill of Edward’s death on the water below, the cries carried on the ripples having swept past this stretch. Not twenty four hours have passed and the water looks darker below her feet as it runs at a pace on its long journey to the sea. She can hear ‘serve us tip’ in her ears, and Edward’s urgent voice to communicate this message. If only she could have understood better what he was trying to convey.
Elizabeth continues down Water Street, to Fen View Court and is soon locking her bicycle to the front garden railings of a red-bricked house in a cul-de-sac, overlooking the River Cam. She walks up the garden path to the front door and rings the bell. Ivy has grown around the porch and a spider guards a corner, keenly observing Elizabeth’s attempted entry. Frosted glass of the front door reflects a quiet hallway. �
�Ding dong’, there is a pause and then to her left Elizabeth notices the curtains twitch.
“Hello, Miss Bunt?” Elizabeth stands back from the porch so as to be clearly seen from the front window.
“May I have a quick word?”
Susan opens the window a crack. She is at least three feet higher from the ground outside than Elizabeth, so feels at a safe advantage.
“Who wants to talk?”
“Elizabeth Green. Hello. May we speak? About Edward Wiley, Miss Bunt?”
Susan disappears from the window, and Elizabeth sees a shadowy figure moving towards the front door glass. Susan opens the door a crack. Dressed in a black trouser suit and a blue scarf covered in Scotty dogs, Susan flicks her ash out towards Elizabeth, then inhales a long drag of her cigarette as she scrutinizes this serious looking lady in linen and a cycle helmet.
“What do you want? And it’s Doctor Bunt.”
“I have come to talk to you about Edward Wiley, if I may? I’ve just been with Mrs Wiley and she said you knew her husband, that you were once close, Dr Bunt.”
Elizabeth takes off her cycle helmet and tries to tidy her unruly curls. Susan thinks angrily of Rebecca.
“That scrawny cow? I’ve never been close to her in my life. What is it to you, who are you?”
Elizabeth looks at Susan, while clipping her cycle helmet to her linen jacket pocket.
“I’m a colleague of Edward Wiley’s, I knew him from the department. May I come in a minute to talk to you about -”
Susan is having none of it. Anyone who knows Rebecca is bad news.
“No, you bloody can’t, now piss off.”
Elizabeth persists, trying to work out if Susan knows about Edward.
“Have the police not been in touch?”
“Police?”
Elizabeth thinks perhaps Susan knows nothing.
“About Edward Wiley.”
Susan is curious.
“What about Edward? What’s happened?”
Elizabeth pauses and looks at Susan. How is she going to break it?
“Dr Bunt, have you not seen or heard the news?”
Susan now opens the door wider and leans against the door frame with her arms defensively crossed.
“No, I haven’t seen the ruddy news. What are you on about. Do I know you?”
Elizabeth pauses at the gravity of having to break it to Susan.
“May I come in?”
Susan finishes her cigarette, stubbing it out on the wall.
“No you bloody can’t. I haven’t got time for chats with any old stranger. Just say what you’ve got to say, then do one.”
There is a long pause as Elizabeth looks at Susan and away again.
“I really think we should do this indoors.”
Susan blows the last smoke from her lungs out towards Elizabeth, who winces somewhat at the stench.
“Just bloody tell me, or sod off.”
“Edward is dead, Dr Bunt.”
Susan stares at Elizabeth, then looks across the river at the cattle.
“Dead?” Susan can almost hear the cattle chewing from where they stand, in spite of the river separating them. “The heifers are through the gate again.” Susan’s voice wavers.
Elizabeth can see the colour drain from Susan.
“I think you’d better sit down. Please, let me help you inside.”
They wander into the hallway, Susan no longer objecting, instead in a daze talks only of the mundane.
“Excuse the mess. I was going to clean up today. Been a bit distracted.”
Elizabeth is still unsure whether Susan already knew of the death and is putting on an act, or is genuinely shocked, as she strikes her as a rather dark horse.
“It’s a terrible shock, a dreadful thing. I’m sorry you had to hear it from me. Let me get you a glass of water, is your kitchen through here?”
Elizabeth spots the kitchen off the living room and pops in to grab a glass of water and have a bit of a snoop. The kitchen is messy and the cupboards reveal sparse contents, as if this rather large lady deliberately keeps no food in the house in case she eats it, thinks Elizabeth. She looks in the fridge, again, quite empty. Perhaps Susan is planning to go shopping soon. In less than a few seconds Elizabeth brings out the only clean mug full of water, and returns to Susan’s side. Susan has slumped down onto the sofa, with her head tipped back she stares at the smoke stained ceiling. Elizabeth hands her the water and looks about the cluttered room. A momentary lull in conversation leads Elizabeth’s eyes to wander to the bookcase full of Yeats, Dylan Thomas, Virginia Woolf, Aldous Huxley, a candle half burned, a box with Rizlas and some fruit jellies the only ornaments. She spots a computer at a desk, and a full ashtray beside which an anglepoise burns, causing yet more cigarette stench to rise. Susan clocks Elizabeth’s disdain at the mess.
“I’ve been working on a paper. Don’t tend to make contact with the outside world until I’ve finished.”
Elizabeth wonders if Susan is just making excuses for why she may not have heard the news about Edward, though the computer work looks genuine, judging from all the butts and coffee rings.
“I’m sorry. May I?”
Elizabeth points at a chair covered in jumpers and socks, for her to sit on. Susan makes no reply, so she takes that as a yes and places the clothes on the floor then eases herself down.
“Are you sure it’s Edward who’s dead?” Susan asks, adding, “I was only with him, what -” Susan stops herself from saying what she was going to reveal. “Why have you come here? I mean to tell me? What are you doing?”
Elizabeth thinks this a fair question, though Susan seems to have recovered from her shock rather quickly in her opinion. If she had just heard someone close had died, she would be unable to talk, think, see.
“I found him.” Elizabeth replies.
Susan sits forward and stares at Elizabeth.
“Where, where did you find him?”
Elizabeth isn’t sure if she is being played now. But goes along with the questioning.
“Near Jesus Lock. I live up there, Dr Bunt.”
Susan continues to question.
“What, in the Lock house?”
Elizabeth wonders if she can test Susan, just to see if she’s the killer.
“No, further up. My garden backs onto the river near Magdalene College. Do you know that route?”
Susan doesn’t answer Elizabeth’s question, instead asking her own.
“Did he drown?”
Elizabeth wonders how Susan could have known that he’d been in the water, if she knew nothing and was innocent. She decides not to answer the question, but reply with a question.
“I’m sorry to ask you this, as I say I’ve spoken to Rebecca Wiley this morning and she told me that you and Edward were close. He was very popular in the department and I’m at a loss as to who might want to kill him?”
“Kill him?”
Elizabeth stares at Susan. She does seem to look shaken. Perhaps she’s a good actress Elizabeth thinks. There are a lot of poetry and literature books on the shelves. As a scientist herself, Elizabeth finds that those who have followed a career in the arts, being dramatic does tends to go with the territory. Elizabeth thinks of herself as a scientist, and as such leaves all that drama to the creative artsy people. Even if Godric says she is, and come to think of it Gerald used to tell her often she was being overly dramatic, she knows she has a logical, rational and calm mind. Elizabeth wants to find out more about this enigmatic woman.
“You’re in shock. Is there anyone I can contact? Family?”
Susan shakes her head. Her family is not from around here, and her friends scattered all around the world now. She used to have more, but years of neglect and throwing her life into her research put paid to that.
“I can’t believe
it. When?”
“Last night.”
Elizabeth wanders over to the lap top on the table and searches for the news. She tilts the screen and shows it to Susan. The headline reads ‘Don dies in tragedy on river’. Next to the photo of Edward is a photo of his famous politician brother-in-law. Susan points at Jonathan.
“He’s threatened me to stay away from Edward, because of his beloved sister.”
“So you know Jonathan Smythe-Jones?”
“We both studied English, though he was a Trinity man, always more acerbic than most, both in the Footlights.” Susan smirks. “Why join if you’re not funny? He directed some revues. Bossy as hell, didn’t last long. They kicked him out. I guess that’s when he chose politics. Those who can’t, and all that.”
“You were in the Footlights?”
“Wrote a few sketches, did a bit of comedy, yeah. I saw him last week in college. He was always visiting his sister. Obsessed, Edward thought. The two of them went everywhere.”
Elizabeth observes Susan’s jokey mood and brings it back to Rebecca.
“So you also saw Rebecca then?”
Susan glares at Elizabeth, drinks the water down in one and reaches for another cigarette from the packet on the table, offering Elizabeth one.
“No, I believe it was you who spoke to the skinny bint. She said I’d know something? Full of poison she is, face like butter wouldn’t, you know. What would I know?” Tears start to fall on Susan’s cheeks “I can’t talk now.” Elizabeth politely declines the cigarette and gently presses Susan. Less certain she’s read the situation right.
“It’s widely known that people remember important facts immediately after an event, by talking about it that we manage to capture all the pieces of the puzzle. Otherwise the memory fades. Just one more question, why would Rebecca Wiley mention your affair to me do you think?”
