Hunter had an air of preoccupation which, in view of everything that was happening, he could scarcely be expected to put aside. He said, ‘James says you’re kind enough to have a talk to Nella.’
Then he did it bloody quickly, unless some kind of ESP operates here. It probably does, she thought resignedly. ‘It’s just that I can’t help feeling sorry … ’
‘Yes, come on, I’ll take you.’ As they walked down yet another corridor, he said, ‘You remember you told me you saw Benjamin shortly before Alfred’s death.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, have I lost my place somewhere? I thought that before that you told me Benjamin had just stopped going around, socially, dropped out — no one saw him. But you did — so where was it?’
‘On his evening walk; depending on the time of year, he always went out at dusk. Then, you see, there were few people about, they were home having drinks or supper or watching telly. And he never strayed from High Town, where it’s always quiet. I used to come across him sometimes because I’m out and about at all times with the armadillo.’
‘So he stuck to the same area?’
‘He stuck to the same route. That’s the way it seemed to me.’
‘He was always alone?’
‘Very occasionally Alfred was with him. Usually just by himself, though.’
‘And that evening, that last evening, you spoke to him?’
‘Only in passing, just hallo, nice-evening, terrible-evening. He always had more to say to the armadillo, patting him and muttering something, I’ve no idea what … ’
Always dusk, always round High Town. So when he went out on his last walk, there were a few people who knew exactly where he would be.
*
Nella’s face was putty-coloured, her manner grand — unhurried, queenly movements; but she had an air that hinted she had mislaid something and couldn’t think what it was.
In the old-fashioned police station, considerable effort had gone into making the interview room less institutionalised. It was decorated in pastel colours, with matching curtains. They sat in easy chairs before a low table, a young WPC positioned on a chair by the door.
Hunter’s advice to Inez had been to go straight out — tell Nella she had recognised Alfred. Inez, while appreciating the value of shock tactics, found this was something she could not do. She didn’t know whether it was because her nerve failed or because she felt sorry for Nella. She simply said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Is there something you’d like to talk about? In the past, I’ve helped you whenever I could. I’d like to now, if you’d let me, now that you’re in trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ A patronising smile, a studied, dismissive gesture of the hand. ‘If I were in the least trouble, I can’t imagine what you could do. My solicitor, Mr Jelks, will instruct a QC of the highest possible calibre to act in my defence — which is that in the act of defending my life I have ridded society of a murderer.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s one — ’
‘I have no intention of asking for preferential treatment because of who I am, the law must take its course, I shall pay any penalty it requires. With my faith in British justice I know I will receive a fair trial. I shall, of course, shrink from the inevitable vulgar interest … ’
No, you won’t, you’ll love it, Inez thought wildly.
While Nella continued to amplify her future role, Inez sat bemused by the notion that Nella had moved from her cherished position of being in control of Alfred’s fiction to writing a part in it for herself. Was it shock? Hunter had told her: ‘The way to cope with shock is to square up to reality.’ She should have followed his advice in the first place. She said, kindly but positively, ‘Nella, it was Alfred. In the garage at Ferns. I saw him. I heard his voice.’
Nella stared at her coldly. ‘No, you’re mistaken, that’s absurd. You mustn’t say such things.’
‘Both the garage doors were open as I came up the drive, I heard — ’
‘I’d forgotten you were there — which shows the severity of the trauma I’ve suffered. It is extremely cruel of you to take advantage of me in this way.’
‘I’m not, but I know — ’
‘I’m surprised. Even with your love of posturing and exaggeration, I wouldn’t have believed you would go to such lengths to draw attention to yourself.’
‘Draw … Look here — ’
‘No, you look. I will not tolerate your going around saying such wicked things. It’s doubtful anyone will listen to you, it’s your word against mine, and I command considerably more respect than you. But I warn you, I will not hesitate to take legal action should you persist in this fantasy.’
Momentarily speechless, Inez recognised the tactic: browbeat, intimidate; she recognised the rigid, intense manner; recognised in the loud, cultured voice the hectoring tones of Grandmother Lynchet. It was unnerving: Nella’s short dumpy body possessed by the merciless spirit of a tall, gaunt old woman. She said, with gentle desperation, ‘Nella, I don’t know why you’re attacking me like this, but you must stop. You’re confused, understandably, by what’s happened — ’
‘You’re the last person qualified to patronise me, Inez. I behaved with courage in a dangerous situation that was not of my own making. If that woman hadn’t been so reckless and self-centred — ’
‘That woman. You mean Jaynie — ’
‘She brought it all on herself. It was she who lured Benjamin from — wherever he was — I don’t know — ’
‘Benjamin. It wasn’t — ’
‘If she hadn’t pried into our affairs, and put me in peril — ’
Has she really just said ‘peril’? Am I going mad?
‘ — she was about to unmask him as the murderer of some prostitute in the past. He told me, he told me all about it, before he — he attacked me. He had always been unbalanced — well, you can testify to that — ’
‘I am not doing any testifying for — ’
‘ — and living as he has been these last few years, an awful life, feckless, drinking, gambling, his character deteriorated completely.’
‘I thought you’d lost contact with him?’
‘What?’ Nella looked at her with the air of abstraction that had been noticeable earlier.
‘How could Jaynie possibly know that he’d committed murder years ago?’
‘She found out — her research. And she threatened to tell the police. I’ve said that already, haven’t I? Do try and follow, Inez.’
‘But how could she know? She wasn’t a — a detective.’ She wasn’t even very bright.
‘She thought she was, prying and ferreting. She dug up all sorts of things about people, you were fortunate she didn’t turn her attention on you — ’
‘The only sense that makes is that there was something for her to dig up — that Benjamin — that Benjamin really did murder someone.’
‘Of course, he was always jealous of Alfred.’ Nella spoke confidentially. ‘In spite of Alfred doing what he could to help. Resented his talent, his success, well, you know that only too well.’
Why did Nella keep trying to enlist her support?
At the moment she asked herself that, Nella looked away. But not before her sideways glance revealed an instant’s unmistakable slyness, repellent and baffling because there was something specific in that slyness — it came to her suddenly; Hunter’s words over lunch at Cremorne: The hedgehog knows one big thing. Not abstraction. Calculation.
She said quietly, ‘You’re not talking about Benjamin — you’re talking about Alfred. You’ve misidentified him — just as your grandmother did, just as deliberately.’
Nella’s eyes narrowed, she drew in a hissing breath. ‘How dare you say such vile things. You don’t imagine anyone’s going to take account of your maunderings? Everyone knows you make things up.’
‘I have no possible reason for making this up. You have. To save the reputation of the Lynchets. To save Alfred’s reputation.’
Nella sa
id loudly, ‘I insist you leave now. You are behaving like a fishwife, screaming insults — ’
‘No, if there’s any screaming it’s going on inside your head.’ It was true, Nella would hear only what she wished to hear. ‘Listen.’ She spoke firmly. ‘I saw Alfred. I saw his body, I recognised him. I identified him.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Recognised. How could you? He’d grown a beard.’
Inez sat for a moment, then found her voice. ‘Do you know what you’ve just said? You’ve admitted it was Alfred. Nella, you’re in a desperate situation, but if you go on telling lies — ’
Nella stood with unexpected speed, slapped Inez across the face with her right hand, punched her in the chest with her left. The WPC was there, wrestling her back. Inez sat dazed. Nella shouted, ‘Alfred’s reputation is secure. Nothing, no one, can take it away. It is his work — his work — there is no one … ’
The room suddenly filled with people. Inez put her hand to her stinging cheek. In a sickening insight she saw the answer to the whole conundrum, but she was trying to keep her head before the onslaught of too many improbabilities. Whatever she understood at that moment disappeared, at once, into confusion.
*
‘All right?’ Hunter said.
He had his arms securely round her. It was only comfort but she really did not wish to be anywhere else. All in the course of duty for him, but nevertheless, a private space. ‘Yes. She packed quite a punch.’
‘You ladylike types are all the same when it comes to putting the boot in.’
‘Well, you’d know.’ She moved reluctantly away. ‘I was your stalking horse, wasn’t I?’
He looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, I never thought she’d set about you.’
‘Oh, I don’t blame you. I suppose you have to use any means you can to get at the truth. Sheldon, there was a moment when she really spooked me. She could have been Grandmother Lynchet … What the hell is going on with her?’
‘Don’t trouble yourself, Inez. We’ll get it sorted.’
‘Yes, I suppose you will. For one minute there I thought I had.’
But she couldn’t, she didn’t know enough. Neither did he, yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nella had been told — if she had taken it in — that she could be held for only twenty-four hours, and then must be released, unless she was charged or there was any reason for her to be held in custody any longer. Hunter was confident that he had so many reasons the Superintendent would have no trouble in granting a twelve-hour extension. That still left much ground to be covered, detail to be verified, and, ultimately, he would get nowhere without hard evidence.
The duty officer authorised a search of Ferns and the team soon came up with something for Hunter to work on. DC Darrow was a keen young man with an accountancy degree; it was said of him there was nothing he liked more than being let loose to count things. From Ferns he telephoned Hunter, who was in conference about the next step in an investigation of accumulating complexity.
‘Well. Is there? Now, there’s a thing,’ Hunter said. He knew his man and his particular expertise. ‘As far back as the records you’ve found there? But it could pre-date those. Yes … I don’t anticipate any trouble getting a warrant to look at her bank account, there’s more than enough dodgy business going on here, her statement leaks like an old man’s bladder. So, get along to wherever? Right. See how long that’s been going on. OK. Benjamin Wright’s address. Good. Where did you find it? Did you? Bingo, I’d say. No … we need someone of our own there, God knows what might turn up. Send Collier, DS Walker to go with him.’
He told his colleagues the substance of Darrow’s call. ‘Ms Lynchet’s got a lot of fast talking to do. Her solicitor should be surfacing by now … ’ He had already been summoned, they would not interview Nella without him, having always to be aware of how any situation would look when it came to court. Ms Nella Lynchet, it was becoming obvious, was going to give them hell whatever happened; the important thing was to be in the right square whatever move she made.
*
Hunter and Annette confronted Nella again. Hunter had an assortment of papers on the table before him; mostly, they were no more than props, but invaluable for allowing considered pauses, searching looks, and the lengthy taking of indecipherable notes.
‘During the time Mrs Jaynie Turner was missing, before her body was found, did you go to her bungalow?’
Nella appeared composed, but her eyes kept watchfully on the move — which said to Hunter that she was ready for anyone creeping up on her. ‘Why on earth should I?’
‘And did you let yourself in?’
‘How on earth could I do that?’
‘Will you answer the question, Miss Lynchet?’
‘Of course I didn’t. Preposterous.’
From a folder Hunter produced a see-through plastic wallet and laid it on the table before Nella. It contained a key. Her eyes flickered over it and away.
‘Do you recognise this, Miss Lynchet?’
‘No.’
‘Would you look at it, please?’
‘I have. Oh, very well.’ Her glance skimmed. Annette would never have believed a key could be flamboyant. This one was. It was attached to two rings, one an ornate gilt, the other diamanté, from which dangled a miniature gilt poodle with a diamanté collar. No one who had seen it could possibly forget it. Hunter asked again if Nella recognised it, received the same reply.
‘I understand that you knew where Mrs Turner kept her spare front door key.’
‘Do you? From whom?’ she said strenuously and went on without waiting for a reply, ‘If you use malicious gossip as a basis for your investigations, then it’s not surprising — ’
‘Did you know, Miss Lynchet?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Right. In the front porch of Mrs Turner’s bungalow, there’s a miniature — er — windmill. The roof of it is a pot with foliage in. If you lifted the pot out — ’
‘I did no such thing, it wasn’t — ’ She stopped abruptly.
‘Wasn’t what?’
‘It wasn’t any business of mine where the woman kept her key.’
‘Oh, did I say she kept it there?’
‘Yes, you did.’ Leaning forward, she tapped the table for emphasis. Sure of herself. ‘And if you’re trying to say I took it from that ridiculous object, then that is utterly untrue and something you could not prove to be so in a million years.’
‘Of course I couldn’t,’ he said reassuringly, with an irony she would never fathom. Because the key had not been there, in that most obvious of places. Just a short distance, at the edge of the lawn, stood a lurid collection of garden ornaments, amongst them a small pig of such subdued colour it was a wonder no one had noticed it before. It was backed into a shrub, lifting its snout to reveal a partly opened mouth with nothing in it. ‘What about its arse,’ someone said, picking it up, and discovering, to the crudest possible hilarity, a well-disguised trapdoor beneath its tail. If the daily woman had not told them where to look, they would have been a long time finding it.
But there were no fingerprints on the key. There was no doubt Nella had used it to gain entry, just as there was no way he could prove she had set aside her dignity and rifled a pig’s bum. Even so, there was some obscure satisfaction in the thought.
He took her through it again, at a quickened pace; she was adamant, unassailable.
‘So you categorically deny you visited Mrs Turner’s bungalow and let yourself in.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘We have a witness.’
‘Impossible. Who could have seen me so late, in the dark?’
‘Was it late, and dark, Miss Lynchet?’ he asked softly.
Her solicitor, Mr Arthur Jelks, leaned forward. Mr Jelks — the haplessly bullied Lynchet family solicitor who had too often been summoned to Ferns, to endure parsimonious dinners in the frigid dining-room, being patronised, instructed, fed tiny portions of stodge and the smallest pos
sible quantities of excellent wine. Nothing in his life, in the blameless, long tradition of his firm, could have prepared him for this. He did his best.
Hunter and Annette watched as he whispered to Nella. She stared stonily ahead, her lips set in a grim line.
‘Well, Miss Lynchet?’ Hunter asked.
Mr Jelks inclined timidly towards her once more, whispered. Nella recited acidly, ‘I am not compelled to answer your questions. I have a right to remain silent.’
Hunter sighed. ‘Very well. A search of your house has revealed — ’
‘Search?’ She glared at him. It was barely supportable: the thought of Ferns — haven, fortress, fastness of gentility — now despoiled, besieged by teeming police, media, the vulgar public. The news that its interior was now open to the gaze of officialdom brought her close to rage. ‘What do you mean? How dare you? My house … She turned upon the shrinking Jelks. ‘What are you going to do about this?’
Hunter replied for him, ‘Under section 32 of PACE we are entitled to enter and search the premises where you were arrested — ’
‘I can hardly believe I have to point out to you that the crime took place in the garage. Your search should be confined to — ’
‘ — for evidence relating to the offence for which you have been arrested,’ Hunter concluded inexorably.
She made a sound of exasperation, sat staring into a furious distance, retrieved her hauteur. ‘In that case, it was fortunate I had the foresight to lock everything up. I always lock the desk and filing cabinets when I leave the house, or when there are strangers about, ever since that dreadful woman took advantage of my good nature. I have valuable papers in my keeping, Alfred’s first plot outlines — goodness knows their worth, typed on his old portable Remington, which belonged to my parents … ’
Hunter let her continue, talking herself into a refuge out of which he could disastrously spring her. He excused himself abruptly, left the room, an unspoken message to Annette.
Death Out of Season Page 16
