Derek had brought two men with him. I tried to prepare them for what they would find, but no description could match the reality. Derek stood at the studio door in utter stillness and silence for a moment, then drew a deep breath. ‘All right,’ he said to one of his henchmen, ‘send for the crew. Tell them to prepare for a long stint. We’ll have to dig our way in. And who, sir, are you?’
Braithwaite, who had been fidgeting, now spoke with some of his former bluster. ‘W.T. Braithwaite, head of the college.’
‘Ah, yes. Some of my people spoke to you in connection with the earlier crime, I believe. Surely your title is Acting Head, or something of the sort? And why are you here today, sir?’
Derek’s cool indifference punctured the little man’s ego, but he still put up a fight. ‘I am here on legitimate business, which is more than I can say for these two trespassers! Furthermore, this man physically accosted me as I tried to investigate this horror!’
Derek looked Braithwaite slowly up and down, noting his cashmere pullover, the pristine shirt under it, his unruffled hair, and his trim trousers stained at the cuffs with spots of bright inks. ‘He doesn’t seem to have done a great deal of damage. Do I understand that you wish to file a complaint?’
‘He – I – oh, forget it!’
‘Very wise, sir. Mr Nesbitt was acting entirely properly, you know. Now, let me escort you to the corridor, so that you won’t do any more damage to the scene than you have already done, and you can wait there. I’ll want to ask you a few questions in a bit.’
Derek spoke to Alan and me for a moment and inspected our shoes.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘we went in before we really saw what had happened. But we didn’t go far, so we shouldn’t have messed the scene up too badly, do you think?’ Derek gave me a quizzical look. ‘I’m sorry, I’m babbling. This is all just so … Derek, Alan called it a kind of murder, and it is, isn’t it?’
‘It’s frightful. And I can tell you this. It has happened since two o’clock this afternoon. We searched this building thoroughly then, and this studio was in perfect order.’
‘Then … Matt came back, or … it doesn’t make sense!’
‘Nothing about this series of crimes makes sense.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Technically, you know, you two were in fact trespassing. Add breaking and entering to the charge, as well.’
‘We entered, Derek,’ said Alan. ‘I’ll confess to that. But we did not break. A door at the loading dock was unlocked.’
‘Was it, now? That’s interesting. Because when we left this afternoon, we made quite sure that the building was sealed up tight.’
THIRTEEN
After our apologies to Derek for our impulsive foray into the Fine Arts building, and his absolution in view of our discoveries, Alan and I left. I simply couldn’t bear to stay near the print studio, and we were only in the way. If Derek and his crew found anything of any interest, if, God forbid, they found Matt’s body, he’d let us know right away.
‘I wonder,’ I said as we got in the car, ‘how long he’s going to let that man cool his heels.’
‘Long enough to teach him a lesson,’ said Alan. ‘He really is an insufferable git, isn’t he? You do realize he blundered into that room on purpose, don’t you?’
‘I wondered. Very few people defy you when you talk like a chief constable. Why did he?’
‘I can think of two possibilities. He wanted to plant something in the room, or alternatively to find and remove something. Or he wanted us to see him get ink all over his shoes and trousers.’
‘You think he did it?’
‘I think he’s malicious enough to do almost anything. And he thinks he’s clever enough to get away with almost anything.’
‘Murder?’
‘Oh, he could do murder. The only problem is—’
‘He doesn’t have a motive,’ we said together. ‘And we don’t know how the man was killed, or when, or any of those little details,’ I added. ‘And now Derek and co. have this new atrocity to deal with. Alan!’ I clutched at his arm, and the car swerved.
‘Easy, Dorothy! You nearly had me on the pavement! What is it?’
‘Gillian! Is she safe? If this horrible attack on the studio was someone gone crazy …’
‘Where does she live?’
‘I don’t have her address with me!’ I wailed. ‘It’s not far from here, and I got there once, but the roads are so confusing around here …’
Alan patted my knee. ‘You got her address from Inga, didn’t you? Why don’t you phone her?’
He pulled to the side of the road while I made the call and then sighed with relief at the news I heard. ‘Gillian’s with Inga and Nigel. They invited her for tea, and Inga said we’re to come over, too.’
‘It’s a bit late for tea,’ said Alan, putting the car in gear.
‘Yes, but we haven’t had any, and I’m parched. And exhausted.’
‘Right.’ He turned in the direction of the Evans’s house.
They lived in a small semi, what I would call a duplex, in a housing development near the university. It was bright and new, and Inga kept it shining, despite the unceasing demands of the Nipper. Today the garden was looking a trifle bedraggled, though. The constant fine rain had weighed down the shaggy heads of chrysanthemums till they fell over in the mud, and petals from the fading roses littered the mulch below the bushes. A well-kept bicycle was propped against the side of the house, and I surmised that Gillian had not yet invested in a car.
Nigel met us at the door. ‘The girls are talking nineteen to the dozen,’ he said with a smile, ‘and I’ve just got the Nipper into bed for his nap. There’s fresh tea in a minute or two.’ He looked at us more closely and his manner changed. ‘Something’s wrong. Is it something to do with the murder?’
‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘We’ll tell you about it, but we don’t want to upset Inga.’
‘She’s tough, so long as it isn’t another death.’ He looked at us closely, to see if we took this as a joke, and was not reassured.
A scream from the tea kettle recalled him to his tea-making, and we went on into the minute front room, where Inga and Gillian sat side by side on the couch, tea cups and crumb-littered plates in front of them. ‘We’ve been making pigs of ourselves, but Nigel’s fetching more biscuits and cakes,’ said Inga. Then she, too, saw the strain on our faces. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘Yes, but it’s not as bad as it might be,’ I said hastily. ‘We’ve just been to the college, Gillian, and some madman has wrecked the print studio. It’s … pretty awful, actually.’ My voice started to shake and Alan took over.
‘We went to the college to see if we could find any sign of where Matt might be. A rather frail straw to cling to, but we had no other ideas.’
‘No, Alan, we might as well admit it was sheer intuition. We knew the police would have been there, and there was no reason to believe … you three do know what we’re talking about, don’t you?’
‘Not a clue,’ said Gillian. She tried to sound flippant, but her face had gone white.
Alan smote his head. ‘Fool that I am! How would you know? Christopher told us only this morning. Matt Thomas has gone missing. At least, he didn’t show up at a dinner party last night, didn’t notify his hosts, and still has not phoned. I called Derek straightaway, since this could be connected with Chandler’s death.’
‘And then we waited and waited to hear something,’ I said, ‘and finally decided to go to the college and see for ourselves. And I don’t know why Alan wanted to go, but I had a strong feeling that something was wrong there. Idiotic, perhaps, but …’
‘You told me not to say that sort of thing,’ said Gillian quietly. ‘Am I allowed to send your advice back to you?’
‘Oh, my dear!’
It was a good thing Nigel came in with the tea tray just then, or I might have dissolved in a maudlin little puddle.
Tea is not just a beverage, or a light meal. It is a ritual, not perhaps as rigidly structured
as the Japanese tea ceremony, but in its own way as formal. One of the unspoken rules is that unpleasant things are not discussed over tea. That means that tea provides a respite, an island of calm in the midst of trouble. So we drank our tea and ate our excellent biscuits (Inga is a great cook) and talked about the weather, and the exploits of Max, the venerable pub cat at the Rose and Crown, and the chances of Nigel’s favourite football team in the season that had begun in August. And I felt refreshed and ready to face further discussion of Matt and the art school crimes.
‘Gillian, do you know Matt at all?’
‘We’ve met. I rather like him. I’ve seen his work, and he’s brilliant, you know?’
‘I do know. I’ve seen his work, too.’ I decided not to tell her about the ruined prints unless I had to. If their destruction had nearly made me ill, I couldn’t imagine what the news would do to an artist of Gillian’s calibre. ‘But you don’t really know him as a person?’
‘No. You know term hasn’t actually begun. I’ve been around the college now and again, but working, not socializing. But Mrs Martin—’
‘Dorothy,’ I reminded her.
‘Dorothy, why do you both say he’s disappeared? Couldn’t he have just decided to take a weekend holiday before term begins tomorrow?’
‘He could,’ said Alan, ‘but his friends don’t think he would have done without telling them. Especially as the dinner last night was organized for him, and they say he was never rude. He would have said something to them.’
‘He did seem quite courteous,’ said Gillian doubtfully. ‘But why would he do a runner? You said it might have something to do with Chandler’s death?’
‘Might,’ said Alan. ‘Only might. There are any number of possibilities. A sudden family emergency. A sudden illness or accident. Even amnesia. That’s rare, but it does happen, especially when a person has been under considerable strain.’
‘I’m sure the police are checking hospitals, accident reports, that sort of thing,’ said Inga.
‘And checking with his family,’ I added. ‘All of those things are of course possible. But with the other things that have been happening at the college, we have to wonder if it’s just a coincidence that Matt’s gone. And as you’re connected with the college, too, Gillian, we … well, mostly I, got worried about you and wanted to make sure you were all right.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said in the sort of small voice that puts the lie to the statement.
‘She’s scared,’ said Inga. ‘That’s why we asked her to tea. Gilly, darling, they won’t laugh at you. Tell them.’
‘It’s just … I’ve been getting phone calls.’
Alan recognized her tone of voice. ‘Anonymous ones?’ he asked gently. ‘Obscene?’
‘Not the first ones. They were just annoying. They always came in the middle of the night, and when I answered, there’d be no one there. I didn’t want to unplug the phone, in case my parents called. My father’s not been very well. But after two or three nights of very little sleep, I called Mum and told her I was using my mobile for nearly everything, and she should use that number, and I did unplug the landline.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Then I started to get scared, because the calls started to come in on the mobile. The only people who have that number are my friends and family! And they’ve got worse. Threats, obscenities … the lot.’
‘Have you reported this to the police?’
‘What could they do? It isn’t a crime to make phone calls.’
‘It is to make that sort, and the police can and will follow it up.’ Alan got a pad and pencil out of a pocket. ‘When they did start?’
‘Only a few days ago. The first one was just after … that fateful ride in the lift.’
She was trying hard to maintain self-control. I smiled and gave her a thumbs up.
‘Less than a week, then.’ Alan made a note. ‘And when did they change in character?’
‘When I switched to my mobile, two days ago.’
‘Caller ID?’
‘Blocked.’
‘Right. Now here’s what you can do immediately: get another mobile and give the old one to me. I’ll give it to the chaps who look after phone crimes, and with any luck they’ll track down your caller in a day or two.’
Wordlessly, she pulled it out of her handbag and gave it to him.
‘Excellent. Now, the new phone needn’t be an expensive one.’ He looked with awe at the one she’d given him. ‘Assuming you’re not planning a moon-launch or whatever else this thing can do, a throwaway will do for now. You’ll get this one back in due time. You’ll change the number when you do, of course. And the other important thing is this: give the number of the new phone to no one – no one – except your parents and two trusted friends. Two, in case one is unavailable when someone needs to reach you. And impress upon them all that they are to keep it absolutely secure.’
‘Gillian,’ I asked, ‘are your parents reliable, or are they inclined to gossip?’
She smiled at that. ‘My father was MI5 before his health forced an early retirement. And my mother, in the early days, was his secretary.’
Alan chuckled. ‘Then presumably they both know how to keep a secret.’
‘I haven’t told them what’s been happening, though. Didn’t want to worry them. I suppose now I must do.’
‘That’s up to you,’ said Alan. ‘In your place I think I’d gloss it over, say something about prank calls that you want to stop. Your father will probably read between the lines, and with luck your mother won’t be upset.’
‘They’re not fussy parents, thank God!’ said Inga. ‘Even if your mum works out what’s going on, she won’t have nervous prostration.’
‘They’re terrific,’ agreed Nigel, ‘from what I’ve seen of them. You’re lucky, Gilly.’
Nigel had never met his father, who had died when Nigel was a tiny infant. His mother had done her best, but money had always been in short supply, and she’d had to work long hours away from her young son. He wasn’t quite twelve when she died, too, and he was shifted from pillar to post until someone discovered he could sing and he got into a choir school. After that, he’d managed more or less on his own. Now he had a good job, about to get better, and a wife and family he adored, also about to get even better. But he could still appreciate the value of admirable parents.
‘And if they do cut up rough about her being alone,’ said Inga, ‘we’ve told her she can move in with us until life calms down a bit. We’re crowded, but till the new baby comes, we can manage.’
‘Good,’ said Alan, standing. ‘Now that we know you’re well looked after by your friends, Gilly, we’ll leave you to them. Just one other thing. I’d like you to write down anything your offensive caller said, the exact words, as nearly as you can remember them. I do realize that will be unpleasant for you, but it’s valuable to us, if you think you can bear it.’
‘I’ll do it straightaway. Shall I bring the notes to you, or leave them at the police station?’
‘To me. I’ll pass them on. Cheerio, then.’
‘And thank you, Inga,’ I added. ‘For everything. Look after Snicklefritz, there.’ I nodded to her as-yet flat belly, and waved as we got into the car.
And to Alan, as we drove away, I said, ‘I don’t like it.’
‘Nor do I. It’s one more unsettling thing. I’m going to drop this off on the way home and have Guy, Derek’s best IT man, get to work on it. They’re slow to tackle phone crimes as a rule, particularly when anything major’s going down, but I’ll try to get Derek to ginger them up a bit. I don’t care for this latest development one bit.’
‘Any idea what’s behind it?’
‘Other than that someone’s trying to frighten Gillian, and succeeding, no. Dorothy, what would you think of asking that child to stay with us for a bit? Nigel and Inga have their hands full, and their house, as well. We’ve plenty of room, and I’d rather like to have her under my eye.’
‘I think that’s a wo
nderful idea! I’ll call right now and suggest it.’
Inga protested, of course, but she was ready to be persuaded. ‘It’s because of the baby, really,’ I said. ‘You need to get a lot of rest right now, and of course Nigel Peter doesn’t cut you much slack.’
‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘He has some slight inkling of what’s happening, I think, and he’s already showing a little jealousy.’
‘Well, not that I know a thing about it, but I understand that’s likely to get worse before it gets better. I know Gillian’s a good friend, but truly, if she’s willing to come to us, it might work out better all the way round.’
‘She’s having a little rest right now. I think she’s just a bit overwhelmed. Too much has happened in too short a time. Moving to Sherebury, and getting excited about her first job, and then all the beastliness. Shall I talk to her when she’s feeling more like herself, and ring you back?’
We left it like that, and the minute we got home I went into action to prepare the guest room and plan meals for one more person.
FOURTEEN
Inga talked her into it. Inga can be very persuasive, and I think Gillian was feeling somewhat awkward about staying with the Evanses anyway, given the tiny house and active little boy. They had stopped at Gillian’s flat and packed a suitcase, and deposited her and it, and her bicycle, at our house a little before seven.
Nigel Peter was volubly unhappy about the situation. ‘Aunt Gilly was wiv us. I want Aunt Gilly wiv us! She weads to me.’
‘Gom and Gof need someone to read to them, darling. Aunt Gilly will be back soon.’ Gom and Gof were Nigel Peter’s renditions of godmother and godfather, and I chuckled inside every time he called us that.
‘Want Aunt Gilly now!’ he roared, as Nigel carried him off, red-faced and struggling.
‘He’s going to take after his father,’ I commented as we escorted Gillian into the house. ‘Excellent lungs.’
‘I do feel awful about deserting him, but he can be a little distracting.’
The Gentle Art of Murder Page 10
