by Ann Granger
She looked across the room. "I'll go and ask him myself if I can go upstairs. It won't take a second or two."
Meredith retraced her steps to where she'd last spotted Alan and found him surrounded by a small but agitated crowd consisting of Eric Schuhmacher, two police officers (male), one police officer (female, Wpc Jones) and a man she recognised vaguely as being the one who had raced vainly to cut off the streaker at the outset. She couldn't see Zoe Foster there and supposed that the girl had been isolated somewhere to be dealt with separately. Meredith, remembering Zoe's pale frightened face, felt a pang of sympathy.
As for the streaker, now identified as Hope Mapple, her limelight had been abruptly switched to another and more sinister subject. Silenced yet still able to display in her manner a trace of her former bold defiance, Ms. Mapple had been reunited with her clothes and whisked away in a police car to make her statement at the station.
It took a minute or two to catch Markby's eye and engage in a pantomime indicating she was freezing to death and could she go upstairs to get her coat. He nodded and signalled across the room to Pearce.
However, before Meredith could gain the staircase she was intercepted by Denis Fulton. He looked dreadful, grey-faced and sweating. Really, she thought, quite ill.
"I say," he said hurriedly, "all that charade-type miming you were doing over there, I take it you're going upstairs for some warm clothing?"
"Yes, my coat."
"You couldn't nip along to our room, number fourteen, and fetch down Leah's stole? She's upset and feeling cold and it would mean interrupting that fellow Markby again..."
"Certainly," Meredith said. She glanced across the room. Leah was sitting alone on a chair staring fixedly
into space, her face quite expressionless. Meredith would not have said that she gave any sign of being more upset than Denis. On the other hand, Denis presumably knew how to interpret his wife's mood.
"I don't want/' said Denis again in a hoarse undertone, "to interrupt him, Markby."
"He's very understanding," she heard herself say in defence of Alan whom Denis seemed to view as some kind of ogre. "But yes, he is rather busy."
"Don't want to talk to him!" said Denis, now showing a tendency to develop an alarming twitch at the corner of his left eye. "Have to talk to him, one of them, soon. But what for? We don't know anything about it!" His voice rose on a querulous note. "I don't see why we have to be kept hanging around here. We're not suspects, for pity's sake! Why couldn't Eric keep an eye on his blasted cellar? He's got no business letting bodies be found in it. It's Eric's hotel! I can understand why the plods want to talk to him! Why have we got to be grilled?"
"Routine, I suppose. I'll get the coats."
Upstairs the hotel was empty and her footsteps echoed muffled on the new carpeting. She found her coat and went along to room fourteen to find the stole. In the Fultons' room the subtle scent of expensive perfume lingered on the air. Leah's make-up items were on the dressing table and the dress she had worn earlier in the day was on a hanger hooked over the open bathroom door. Meredith, who had employed the same trick to remove creases by means of bathroom steam on many occasions, smiled. All the same, it was embarrassing to ferret about in someone else's room. Although there was no one on this floor but herself, she still felt that someone, a staff member or a police officer, might come in and ask what she was doing. She grabbed the stole and hurried back downstairs.
During her absence someone had organised cups of tea which were being served by an immaculate and admirably unflustered waiter from a trolley, incongruous
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in the circumstances. Eric clearly meant to look after his guests, no matter what. Meredith took the stole to where Leah sat and bent over her.
"Your husband asked me to bring this down for you."
Leah Fulton looked up and smiled. It was such a radiantly beautiful smile that Meredith experienced quite a feeling of shock. The same perfume as had left its traces in the bedroom made its discreet presence known and Leah's pose seemed perfect, not a hair out of place, no obvious sign of being upset. It would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast between her manner and that of her agitated spouse and no one could have looked more unsuited to be on the scene of a murder. Years on the social treadmill, however, might explain her composure. Society hostesses and humble consular staff alike have to be able to cope with anything.
"Thank you!" Pearly-pink varnished nails closed on the stole. "Denis is very thoughtful. And it's so kind of you to bother."
"No trouble. It seemed easier than asking permission to leave the room twice."
"I shall have to ask permission to leave the room in a minute," said Leah unexpectedly. "I need to go to the loo." She pulled the stole round her shoulders with a sudden irritable movement and Meredith began to suspect that beneath the serene exterior Leah was very distressed, after all. Denis was right. "I suppose," Leah said drily, "that if and when we go, that woman police officer will accompany us. It's degrading."
"I suppose she will," Meredith looked at Wpc Jones. "Not much fun for her, either."
"Yes, well, we're not camels!" Leah wriggled. "And the last thing I need is to be plied with wretched cups of tea!"
This last was a response to the arrival of the waiter. Meredith took two cups of tea from him nevertheless and put them on the pristine damask cloth of the nearest
table. "You ought to drink something hot. It's good for shock."
"A brandy would be better but I suppose we wouldn't be allowed that!" Leah sighed and added in a resigned voice, "Denis didn't want to come today but he felt he owed it to Eric. I should have been firm and called it off. After all, there are plenty of food writers. Eric could have got someone else."
"Why didn't Denis want to come?" Meredith asked curiously. "I would have thought he'd have been keen to see the new restaurant."
"Well, to begin with, Denis said the restaurant couldn't be judged by a gala evening. What's needed is for someone to turn up on an ordinary evening and see how 7 the food and service is then."
That seemed a fair point and reason enough, but Leah went on after a pause. "And Denis has been under a lot of strain recently. He's got a new computer, word processor I suppose you call the thing. He can't get the hang of it. And then there's ..."
She fell silent. Meredith picked up her cup and sipped at the tea, grateful for the warming brew. Over the rim she could see that Denis had now been cornered by Paul who was no doubt talking shop. She supposed that was Paul's way of coping with any upset, but it made him appear unfavourably thick-skinned. Denis did not appear to think this was the time or the place either. He was answering in irritable monosyllables, fidgeting about, in turn shooting glances towards his wife, Meredith and the policemen.
"We haven't been married very long," Leah went on. "Less than a year. Are you married or cohabiting or anything? Sorry, I've forgotten your name."
"Meredith. No. I'm a singleton in every way." She wrenched her gaze from the two professional cookery experts.
"I thought you were with the police chap—the one who's taken charge?"
"Yes—he's a friend."
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1 'Bit of luck, his being on the spot, I suppose. Or not, depending how you view it. I don't suppose he's feeling very chipper about it."
Meredith looked across at Markby. He was looking distinctly harassed and was engaged in some argument with the man she didn't know. The one who had tried to head off the streaker.
Leah had picked up her cup but put it down again with a rapid movement which splashed the tea into the saucer. "Look," she said, leaning forward urgently. "You'll think I've got a frightful nerve, but I'd like to ask you something. It's personal."
"Fire away. I suppose I can always refuse to answer," said Meredith, wondering what on earth was coming and if it was anything to do with Alan.
"You said you're a singleton. Have you ever been married or lived with anyone?"
"No
, not really. I'm in the Foreign Service. I'm posted in London these days, but I've spent a lot of time travelling about on my own. I've got used to it."
"That's it!" Leah said eagerly. "You've got used to it! That's how Denis was till he met me. Used to being on his own. I've been married before. The first time I married I was only eighteen and I married from my parents' home. I've never lived alone, you see. When my first marriage broke up, I remarried almost at once. When Marcus died, I met Denis quite soon after. I suppose it was quite indecent, in a way, marrying Denis so soon after Marcus passed on. But I wasn't being heartless. I loved Marcus and was very happy with him. But I wasn't used to being alone. I've never had a career. I—I need someone there. I need to be married. And I do love Denis." She paused. "I have to have someone to love, you see."
"Have you got any children?" Meredith put the question cautiously. As she had noticed before, shock acted on some people as too much alcohol did on others: it made them talkative, unburdening their troubled minds
of personal problems with an often embarrassing degree of intimate detail to complete strangers.
"Yes, a daughter. But she's like all youngsters now, very independent with her own flat, own friends, own life . . . We really have nothing in common. We get along all right—but don't see too much of each other." Leah sighed. "It's difficult for poor Denis, trying to adjust to having me around. Have you and that police boyfriend of yours ever contemplated moving in together? He seems a nice man. Good looking, too/'
Meredith smiled apologetically. "It wouldn't work!" she said more bleakly than she'd meant to. "I suppose, referring back to what you were saying, I'm used to being on my own. Alan was married once. It didn't work out and it's left him wary. I think he'd—well, he'd like it if we were together on some permanent basis. But I'm not good at sharing my life with anyone else all the time. It sounds selfish but I don't think I'm selfish. I think I'm realistic. I think whatever relationship Alan and I have, it will last longer if we're not under one another's feet. I might be wrong, of course."
Confidences had a way of inspiring other confidences, she thought wryly. Why was she telling her all this 0
"Is he ever jealous?" Leah asked.
Meredith thought that one over. "I've never really— well, he might be. He's never said anything. Not that he's got any reason to be jealous. I haven't got another lover hidden away in London."
"They never do say anything," Leah muttered. "That's the trouble. They brood. They build things up in their imagination. Then when you ask them outright, they deny it. You can always tell because they start to act shifty. I mean, I might not know much in general but I do know something about men! It's the devil's own job trying to get them to talk about what they really feel. They thmk it isn't macho, or something. Men. frankly, can be extremely difficult!"
There was a disturbance. Alan Markby had come into
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the middle of the room. Everyone fell silent and looked at him expectantly.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sure you'll all agree with me that this is a most unfortunate occurrence. We have the names and addresses of everyone here and, if anyone would now like to leave, you are free to do so. I'm afraid the activities of the police both inside and outside the building mean that the dinner has had to be cancelled. Mr. Schuhmacher asks me to make his apologies and I apologise on behalf of the police. It can't be helped!"
Markby's voice rose on the last phrase to drown the groan from the hungry crowd in the dining room.
"There are two other hotels in Bamford and several pubs which do food in the immediate area so if you'd all be so good, perhaps I could ask you to make your own arrangements. We're all sorry for the inconvenience!"
Markby's brisk words met with mutinous silence.
"I shall go back to London at once!" said Merle in a loud voice.
"Find ourselves a pub meal!" Leah gave a short laugh. "And all of us dressed to kill!" She broke off and pulled a face. "Oh dear, wrong expression in the circumstances!"
"Miss Foster?" Markby asked courteously.
The girl was huddled in an armchair in the hotel lounge. She looked ill, her face grey and twitching, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. His question may or may not have registered with her.
1 'I'm Chief Inspector Markby,'' he introduced himself as he took a seat by her. "I doubt I'll be in charge of this case but as I'm on the spot and until someone else is put in charge, I'm co-ordinating the early work. Do you understand?"
This time she reacted, nodding. "Yes." It was a whisper.
"I'm sorry to ask you questions now. I realise you're shocked. But I understand you discovered the body."
"Yes/* She seemed to realise she must be almost inaudible, cleared her throat and repeated more loudly and firmly, ''Yes, I did."
4 'And . . ." he glanced briefly at his scribbled notes taken down on the first thing to hand, a menu card. "You are a member of the historical society and came here today to help mount a protest. Isn't it a bit late for all that? the hotel is now a fact of life."
She shook her head violently. "No, no! It wasn't like that! We weren't all here to protest. It was only Hope who wanted to do something so that our campaign shouldn't just come to a sort of soggy end. We know we're beaten—or at least, the rest of us do. But Hope still wanted to make some kind of statement. The rest of us came rather hoping we could put her off, but we didn't."
"No, quite. Are you the young lady who runs the animal sanctuary, by the way? My niece helps out there occasionally, I believe. She's talked about you. I dare say she gets under your feet."
The girl perked up. "You mean Emma, don't you? Yes, and she's really a great help. It's the Alice Batt Rest Home for Horses and Donkeys." Her manner became dejected again. "Only Schuhmacher wants to throw us off the land. He's our landlord and the lease is up. The animals make a disturbance, he says, and our old barn spoils the view."
"I see." Markby eyed her thoughtfully. "Was that your reason for joining the campaign against turning the Hall into a hotel?"
"Yes," she said frankly. "But it didn't work and I
suppose we'll have to go." She looked at him, her eyes
filled with misery. "But we don't have anywhere to
~~ *'
go-
Markby doodled on the back of his menu card for a moment. "May I ask your age?" "Twenty-four."
"And do you live out there at the rest home alone?" She flushed deeply and her eyes sparkled defiance at
him. "Yes! I can run the place! I'm not incapable!"
"I wasn't suggesting—" he began but she swept on in a burst of indignation which, just for the moment, wiped the murder from her mind. He let her run on, hoping the outburst of emotion might act as a safety valve and help her come to terms with the recent horror.
"I know the place is as much a mess as Schuhmacher says. But the animals are all of them looked after properly! I do have some help, not just Emma. There's Rob, too. Robin Harding, I mean. He's a clerk at the estate agents in the High Street and he belongs to the historical society. He's been a great support to the Horses' Home in lots of practical ways. Perhaps he's at a loose end, I don't know. I don't think he has much family, if any. Maybe he's just filling time. But he's always willing to come out and do the heavy jobs I can't manage. So you see, I cope very well, thank you!"
Markby, overwhelmed, retreated to the real matter. "I see. So tell me how you came to be in the cellar."
Her lively manner evaporated at the reminder and the pinched look returned to her face. "I ran after Hope, trying to catch up and stop her. But then everyone else started running and I just followed. She was making a fool of herself and looked so—so silly! When we all piled down the cellar steps and I saw you and someone else trying to cover her up, and you gave her your jacket, it was so embarrassing. I wanted to get away. I was afraid Hope might call out to me and I'd be dragged into the row. That cameraman was there."
"Yes, he was!" said Markby sourly. Getting r
id of the TV crew once they'd realised they were on the scene of a murder, hadn't been easy.
"I couldn't get back up the cellar steps so I retreated into the back and as I thought, empty, part of the cellars. It wasn't empty, Ellen was there—dead."
Her voice came to a clipped halt. What she was saying tied in with what Meredith had just had time to gabble in his ear. The story raised one immediate question.
"The person to arrive next on the scene saw you
emerge from behind a wine rack where you'd apparently been hiding."
She nodded. "I realised someone was coming and I thought the murderer might be coming back. I was scared and crouched down behind the rack because it was the nearest thing."
"All right. Now think carefully, did you see or hear any sign of anyone else before that person, Miss Mitchell, came round the corner?"
"No. I was alone with Ellen. There was a commotion from the cellar steps, of course, and the people round Hope. But I think I would have seen or heard anyone else there by Ellen."
"You didn't glimpse even a shadow or get an impression of another presence?" he persisted gently. "You are quite sure you were alone with the body?"
Her eyes widened in horrified comprehension. "I didn't kill her!"
"Now take it easy," he soothed. "I'm only trying to get a picture in my own mind. Did you touch the body or the weapon?"
She shuddered and shook her head.
"All right, that will do for now. Sergeant Pearce will be along in a moment to take a proper statement from you. You won't be leaving the Bamford area, going on holiday or anything like that?"
"I don't go on holiday," she said flatly. "Ever. I've got to look after the animals. There's no one else." With a burst of energy and a return of that defiant look, she added, "I don't mind! Thev are my whole life, after all!"
At twenty-four years of age, Markby thought, what a very sad little statement that was.
"That was awful," said Laura later, summing it all up. Three of them were collapsed in various attitudes in the Danbys' drawing room. It was after midnight and the quiet of the world outside seemed to underline the chaotic and macabre experiences of the day. Paul was
