He gave an exclamation of anger. ‘Dammit, Caro, you can’t treat people like this! As if they were fools!’ After a moment, he added, ‘Me included!’
Now she put down the herbal tea and came over to him, slipping her arm around his waist. ‘Come on, darling,’ she coaxed. ‘Don’t make such a fuss about it. It doesn’t matter a scrap what they thought. They’re professionals. They don’t expect to be made to feel welcome and they know people find it tacky, having them in the house.’
‘Tacky?’ He stared at her in amazement. ‘Good Lord, Caro!’ He shook off her encircling arm and went to the window where he stood, staring out at the garden. ‘Don’t make an enemy of Carter. He’s like a terrier. He doesn’t let go.’
‘Pete,’ she said, ‘he has to let go if he has nothing to hold on to.’ She smiled. ‘And he has nothing. You couldn’t tell him anything. He has no reason to come back.’
He turned to look at her. ‘You’re confident of that, are you? Sure I’ve got nothing hidden, nothing further I could tell Sherlock Holmes there? No murky secrets in my past?’
‘I’m absolutely sure!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why on earth should you? I know you. You’re my husband. For goodness’ sake, don’t let that man Carter get to you.’
He continued to stare moodily at her. ‘Well, someone, somewhere, has, haven’t they? A murky secret? And don’t underestimate Carter, either!’ Malone nodded towards the mug of herbal tea. ‘You carry on drinking that witch’s brew.’ He set off towards the kitchen door. ‘I need a whisky.’
* * *
The sun was setting in Bamford that evening and there was a scent of rain in the air. They’d seen it fall tonight – and that wouldn’t help the searchers, thought Markby. He and Trevor Barker stood, side by side, in the road by the spinney, watching the crouched figures move methodically through the tangle of undergrowth. From time to time, a yelp of displeasure indicated someone had plunged his leg into a puddle of cold water, deep enough for it to lap over the top of a wellington boot and settle around the unfortunate’s foot.
A figure scrambling its way towards them revealed itself as Sergeant Emma Johnson. ‘The search leader says he thinks there’s no point in going on tonight. The natural light is too bad, and artificial lights aren’t helping much with all the bushes and so on around, casting shadows.’
‘Call them all off, Sergeant,’ said Barker resignedly. ‘We’ll call it a day.’ To Markby he said, ‘We’ll have another go tomorrow morning but, frankly, I don’t think there’s a snowball’s chance of finding anything. It’s not there, Alan. It’s a tiny object; it could have been lost anywhere between where she died and here, where her bones were found. That could well be a sizeable stretch of country, and we can’t search it all. I can’t even justify spending more money on looking in this spot . . .’ He paused. ‘And even if we did find it, would it tell us anything? After all this time, it will have degraded and it would be unlikely we could prove it was hers. A lot of people carry those inhalers.’
‘Fair enough,’ Markby agreed with a sigh.
They turned away and saw that a small crowd of onlookers had drifted in from somewhere and now stood watching. It was wonderful, thought Markby, how a crowd could materialise as if from nowhere at the first sign of any official activity. These onlookers probably lived in Brocket’s Row and, seeing the lights and movement down the hill from their kitchen windows, decided to follow each other to the spot where ‘something was going on’. They formed a huddled dark mass against the sinking sun, and among them Markby’s eye was caught by a movement. A red pinpoint was moving regularly up and down, as a smoker took the cigarette from his mouth and replaced it, between drags. But the height was odd. The smoker was either extremely short or seated. Beside him, Trevor Barker had noticed the same thing, and Markby heard him give an exclamation.
‘Well, I’m damned, that’s Fred Stokes.’ Barker set off determinedly towards the red glow and Markby followed. He saw then that the answer to the puzzle was that the smoker was seated in a wheelchair.
Stokes had a companion with him, a burly man, who stood alongside the wheelchair with a hand resting on the back of it in proprietorial fashion.
‘Well now, Mr Stokes,’ Barker hailed the occupant of the chair. ‘How did you get here?’
The burly minder spoke in reply. ‘In my van!’ he said.
‘Ah, yes, Mr Wallace!’ Barker acknowledged the burly man before returning his attention to Fred Stokes. ‘Not a pleasant evening for you to be sitting about in the damp air. You’ll be taking a chill, if you don’t watch out.’
The smoker coughed and wheezed. ‘You again, is it?’ he said hoarsely. He waved the cigarette in the general direction of the scene. ‘Thought you’d finished. What’s brought you back, then?’
‘Oh, we’re very thorough,’ said Barker.
Stokes was squinting up at Markby in the poor light. ‘I know you, too, don’t I?’
‘This is former Superintendent Markby,’ Barker told him.
‘Oh, aye,’ said Stokes. ‘Now I remember. You used to run the police here, didn’t you? Some time back? Not a copper any longer, then?’
‘No, Mr Stokes,’ said Markby with resignation, ‘I’m retired.’
‘Fancied you might be,’ returned Stokes. ‘You’d be a bit long in the tooth to be still a copper now.’
‘Very true,’ agreed Markby. ‘Have we met in the past, Mr Stokes?’
Stokes gave a disagreeable grimace. ‘You never nicked me, if that’s what you mean. Nor did anyone else. I’ve always been a law-abiding man, me.’
‘Pleased to hear it,’ said Markby affably.
Stokes gave him a suspicious look before turning his attention back to Trevor Barker. ‘When are you going to take them lights away?’ he grumbled. ‘I can see them from my window. They keep me awake. That’s why I asked Mickey to bring me down here.’
‘We won’t be much longer,’ Barker assured him.
‘Oh well,’ said Stokes. ‘Better than the telly, I dare say.’
The burly man, Wallace, stamped his feet like a restless horse and gripped the handles of the wheelchair. ‘We were on our way to the pub, when we saw you were busy again here. Best be getting along, Fred!’ He manhandled chair and occupant away towards a white van, parked a little way off.
‘Cigarette smoke,’ said Markby quietly to Barker. ‘Dilys smelled it in the spinney when she and Josh found the dead girl.’
‘Old blighter,’ said Barker uncharitably. ‘I’ll have to talk to him again. But although he may be a physical wreck, there’s nothing wrong with his brain. He’s as artful as a cartload of monkeys.’
‘I’m considering having a badge made!’ Markby said suddenly, and Barker looked at him in surprise. ‘No, nothing to do with the police, Trevor. Just a label reading: “Retired. Do not approach.”’
Chapter 12
‘It’s certainly a pretty house,’ said Jess.
They had taken the precaution of parking at the edge of Weston St Ambrose and walking to the Old Forge.
‘Don’t give them the chance to see us coming,’ Carter had said grimly, adding, ‘I still can’t get over how this place is changing so fast. When I first visited here, Weston was like that village in folklore, the one that appears only once in a hundred years – and you have to watch out not to be caught there at nightfall, or something like that, or you’re stuck for the next hundred. Now look at it! It’s got a supermarket, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Not much of one,’ said Jess. ‘And that was here the last time we had a murder to investigate locally. The one involving the Writers’ Club. Anyway, your ex-wife’s aunt lives here.’
‘Yes, Monica, and I’d quite like to call on her while we’re here. Not just a social call, you understand. She might have some gossip about the people who live here.’ He nodded towards the Old Forge.
Jess grinned and they walked towards the front door. They were not as unobserved as Carter had hoped. Someone was watching out. The door flew open
as they got there and they were confronted by a splendid figure. She was a strongly built young woman with long black hair and the sort of dramatic features seen in Victorian paintings of historical scenes; but she was dressed in fashionable jeans, boots and a baggy orange sweater with the sleeves pushed up above her elbows.
‘You are police,’ she announced in a strong accent. It was not a question but a simple statement.
‘Yes,’ replied Carter. He showed his identification.
She dismissed it with a glance.
‘You’re Mrs Ellsworth?’ he asked doubtfully.
Her large dark eyes glittered as if this were some kind of insult. ‘No! I am Gordana. I am nanny.’
Beside him, Carter heard Jess mutter, ‘Yipes!’
‘You will come in,’ ordered Gordana.
She pulled the door open wide and, obediently, they stepped into the hall, which had the form of a large, low-ceilinged square room with a stone paved floor. Carter guessed it must have formed part of the original forge. In the distance a baby was wailing. Before they had time to look round properly, there was an interruption. Two small boys erupted into the space, yelling at the tops of their voices. They were each armed with plastic weapons, playing at space adventurers, and were clashing them with as much violence as they could muster. Carter wondered if he ought to interfere, because if either combatant landed a blow on the other, some damage might be done; the howls of pain that the wounded warrior would set up promised to be even worse than the battle cries. However, seeing there were visitors, the pair skidded to a halt. They lowered their weapons and stood, side by side, staring up at the newcomers critically.
In their wake panted a woman in her early thirties, with short fair hair, freckles and a strained expression. She clasped a red-faced baby to her chest.
‘Boys, boys!’ she wailed. ‘Oh, Gordana, can’t you take them out?’
‘Mrs Ellsworth?’ asked Carter again, sure this time he had the right woman.
‘Yes, yes, I’m Cassie Ellsworth,’ she gasped.
‘They are the police,’ Gordana told her in dire accents.
‘I know, Gordana! It’s OK! Superintendent Carter? And, um, Inspector—?’
‘Campbell,’ Jess supplied helpfully.
‘We’ve been expecting you. I’m sorry about this.’ She gestured towards her sons.
The baby, perhaps by way of making its own presence felt, started to wail again. Cassie began to pat its back and make soothing noises. Gordana took up a position hovering protectively over the two boys. Jess had been studying them. One was dark-haired and one was fair. The dark one was slightly taller, but only marginally, than the fair one. Their features were otherwise identical, with small noses and widely spaced bright eyes. They also sported the same hairstyle, a chopped-off bob with a fringe.
‘They’re twins!’ Jess exclaimed in delight.
Cassie Ellsworth turned her attention to Jess. ‘Yes! People don’t always realise… that’s Dominic.’ She pointed at the fairer one. ‘And this is Oliver.’
Dominic said, ‘Hello, are you really a policeman?’ He scowled at Carter. ‘You’re wearing the wrong clothes.’ He transferred his critical gaze to assess Jess, top to toe. ‘So are you. You’re just pretending.’
‘We are real police officers, even in the wrong clothes,’ Jess told him. ‘Hello, Dominic. Hello, Oliver.’
Being directly addressed, Oliver reluctantly muttered, ‘Hello!’
‘They haven’t got the right clothes. They’re not police. I think they’re aliens,’ declared Dominic.
‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ said their mother.
‘I’m one of twins,’ Jess told Cassie with a smile.
Cassie’s expression brightened. ‘Oh, are you? Perhaps we could talk about that sometime?’ The baby squawked and wriggled. ‘I mean, obviously not now because you’ve come to talk to my husband about something else. But I’d be glad to hear of your experience of being a twin. Did you get along well when you were children?’
‘Pretty well,’ Jess told her.
Cassie looked despondent. ‘Dominic and Oliver squabble a lot.’
‘They should be strong, they are little men,’ opined Gordana, flinging back her mane of dark hair and looking even more like the mother in a Greek tragedy.
‘We’re brother and sister,’ explained Jess. ‘Perhaps that helped when we were little. Two boys or two girls might fight more.’ She looked at the two boys, standing side by side. ‘I think you’ll find,’ she added, ‘that even if they quarrel a bit between themselves, they’ll stick together against a third person.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Cassie dismally, ‘usually me.’
Carter, fearing he’d been forgotten in this discussion of child-rearing, cleared his throat noisily and said, ‘I’m sorry we’re bothering you, Mrs Ellsworth!’
‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said Cassie. ‘Gordana, please take Libby and – take them all out somewhere.’
Gordana plucked the baby from Cassie’s grasp, which made it squawk again, and disappeared with the twins in tow. Dominic’s voice floated back to them, maintaining, ‘I still think they’re aliens!’
‘She’s very good with them,’ Cassie confided. ‘We couldn’t manage without her. I live in dread that she’ll leave. Please, come and meet Nick.’
She led them into a cluttered, untidy sitting room looking out on to a patio area, where the children’s father, who had wisely not joined the welcoming party, was waiting for them. He advanced towards them, a stockily built, sandy-haired man with a broad face and a small nose. The twins take after him, Jess thought.
‘Hi!’ Ellsworth greeted them, stretching out his hand. ‘Superintendent Carter?’ They shook hands.
‘This is Inspector Campbell.’ Carter introduced Jess.
‘Sorry about the racket in the hall,’ Ellsworth apologised. ‘This is a rather noisy house, I’m afraid. I could have met you in my office, but that’s a bit cramped and – well, not very private.’
Carter thought to himself that there wasn’t much privacy to be had in the Old Forge, but at least they didn’t share the space with Ellsworth’s business partners and office staff. ‘Keep it in the family,’ he said aloud, and smiled to show he meant no sarcasm.
‘Oh, yes, absolutely,’ Ellsworth agreed. ‘Please, do sit down.’
His wife reappeared. ‘Coffee, everyone?’
They told her they’d love to have coffee.
‘Where are they?’ asked her husband nervously – referring, presumably, to his brood and not the coffee mugs.
‘Gordana’s taken them out. They’ve gone over to the churchyard to look for squirrels.’ Cassie disappeared towards the kitchen.
‘Gordana manages them very well,’ the children’s father told his visitors. ‘Cassie worries that she might leave. It’s a bit quiet here in Weston St Ambrose. Nothing for her to do in her time off.’
Carter thought, but didn’t say aloud, that it wasn’t very quiet in the Old Forge.
‘Where is Gordana from?’ asked Jess.
‘Oh, don’t ask me,’ returned Ellsworth. He frowned and hesitated. ‘Eastern Europe, somewhere. Cassie knows more about her than I do. Cassie hired her. She used to be in the army, apparently. Not my wife – Gordana was in the army.’
‘I see. Well, Mr Ellsworth, you will already know we are looking again at the disappearance of Rebecca Hellington. You remember her?’
Ellsworth looked despondent. ‘Oh, yes, I remember her. I remember all the fuss when she disappeared. Poor Pete Malone – he’s married now to my cousin, Caroline – had a terrible time. That was down to you, mostly.’ He stared morosely at Carter.
‘My job was to find the missing girl,’ returned Carter. ‘I didn’t.’
Jess asked a question. ‘How did you learn that the case had been reopened, Mr Ellsworth? Did Malone tell you? Or your cousin, perhaps?’
Ellsworth blinked nervously. ‘What? Oh, no, I told her. I told Caroline. Well, not that the case was reopened, bu
t that remains had been found and identified as – as Rebecca. It was in one of the tabloid papers. I don’t eat breakfast at home. Usually, I stop off at a diner attached to a filling station. They have the dailies there for any customer to read. It was in either the Express or the Mail, I think.’ He frowned. ‘I wanted the Telegraph, but someone else got to it first.’
‘And you saw a report of the discovery of a skeleton near Bamford, identified as that of Rebecca?’
‘Yes. It was a nasty shock.’ Ellsworth reddened. ‘It was very sad, of course. But well, you know, upsetting. I phoned Caro, my cousin, right away.’ He leaned forward, hands clasped, and said earnestly, ‘It’s nothing to do with any of us. She didn’t—well, the body was buried at Bamford. So poor old Pete was proved right. He’d said all along that she’d gone home for the weekend. She’d told him she meant to do that. It was her father’s birthday, or her mother’s, I don’t remember which—’
‘Father’s,’ said Carter expressionlessly.
‘Well, then…’ Ellsworth made a gesture with both hands, spreading them wide. ‘That’s what she did, then, poor kid. And someone there bumped her off, I suppose, and buried her.’
A rattle of crockery heralded the return of his wife, and relief crossed Ellsworth’s face. ‘Ah, coffee!’ he exclaimed.
There was a pause while coffee was handed round. Cassie hesitated and sat down. ‘I’ll go away again in a minute,’ she promised.
‘Did you ever meet Rebecca Hellington, Cassie?’ Jess asked her pleasantly.
‘Oh, no,’ said Cassie. ‘It was before Nick and I met.’
Ellsworth said, rather loudly, ‘My wife is ten years younger than I am.’
‘Yes,’ chirped Cassie, ‘I must have been still at school when it all happened.’ She cast a fond look at her husband and he flushed an even darker shade of red. ‘Anyway,’ Cassie went on, ‘I didn’t know anything about her until Nick came home and said he’d seen in a newspaper that human remains had been dug up in a wood. They belonged to some girl Pete dated, years ago. I mean, talk about dramatic!’
An Unfinished Murder Page 17
