by Ann Granger
MURDER AMOhQ U5 53
slumped in an armchair. His untied black tie hung round his neck like a piece of misshapen ribbon. Laura had taken off her high-heeled shoes and propped her stockinged feet up on a coffee table. Meredith sat with feet curled under her on the sofa. Mugs which had contained coffee stood on the floor. They were waiting for Alan.
"He could be ages yet," Meredith said. "He mightn't come."
"He said he'd come. If Alan says he'll come, he'll turn up—even if it's at three in the morning."
"Hope bloody not," said Paul gloomily.
"Go to bed, then!" snapped his wife.
"It's no use getting narked with me! I didn't bung a corpse down in poor old Schuhmacher's cellars!"
"You didn't find it, either!" said Meredith bitterly.
The Danbys regarded her with commiseration. "Bad luck," said Laura.
"Teach me to go wandering off. I should have stayed with the mob."
"That woman ..." said Paul in an awe-struck voice. "The streaker, what a sight."
"I thought she looked rather splendid," Meredith opined.
"I thought she looked ghastly!" said Laura firmly. "And it was Hope Mapple, too. I suppose that banner was something to do with her society but I'm still surprised." Laura turned in explanation to Meredith. "Hope gives art lessons at adult classes and special groups and so on. Despite what happened today, I've always thought her quite reasonable, just a bit colourful. I can't think what possessed her."
The doorbell rang. "Alan. I'll let him in." Paul hauled himself to his feet.
"Sorry to keep you so late," said Markby, coming in. "If there's any coffee left, I could do with a cup— black, please. I should have told you to go on to bed and not wait for me."
"As if we could!" said his sister.
"I can't tell you anything. Anyway, the whole thing's
54 Ann Granger
probably out of my hands now. It's extremely unlikely I'll be in charge of the investigation, given that I was a guest of Eric's."
"'You can tell us if you've cast poor Hope into gaol."
"No. good Lord! She'll be up before the magistrates in the morning. She'll probably be bound over to keep the peace. I gave her a lecture and sent her home. Serve her right if she catches cold after her escapade." said Markby sententiously.
Paul had gone into the kitchen to make more coffee. Laura got up. "I might as well go on to bed, then. See you in the morning."
Alone with Meredith. Markby gave her a hunted look. "Sorry—I thought the weekend would be fur.
"Can't be helped."
"I shall be busy tomorrow, too. I'm in the unenviable position of being a copper who chanced to be at the scene of a crime and so everyone assumes I must have a photographic memory—which I haven't! And on top of that we have a child molester who's been seen hanging around. So we're already stretched to breaking point.'' He sighed. "I had hoped we'd be able to go for a nice long country- walk and talk about things."
Meredith untangled her feet and stretched. "Oh? What thing
"Urn, well..." He leaned forward, hands clasped, hair falling untidily over his forehead. "This and that."
"Alan—you're not planning to move from Bamford. are you?"
He gave her a suspicious look. "No. I'm not. Has someone been talking to you? Where did you get the idea
"Nowhere in particular. I just wondered. You've been here a few years, haven't you?"
"Yes. I like it here."
"If you got promoted—"
"Promoted 0 I don't want promotion!" He glared at her. "You sound just like mv ex-wife!"
"Hey! That's unfair!"
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"It's true!" He threw himself back in the chair and folded his arms grimly. "I don't want promotion and I don't want to leave here."
"Which means, I take it, that both things have been suggested? Is that what you wanted to talk over with me?"
"I was . . . yes, it's been suggested. I'd still like to know who put the idea in your noddle!" He scowled. "I've got a feeling I'm entering some rotten star-sign or whatever. Not that I go in for that sort of guff. But just recently, everything is going wrong." He leaned across impulsively. "But we can forget it for what's left of tonight, can't we? Why don't—"
"Coffee!" said Paul cheerfully, kicking the door open and marching in with a tray. "And I've brought my special cognac. I thought you needed cheering up, Alan, old son!" He sat down and began to busy himself pouring coffee and brandy. He'd brought three glasses.
"See what I mean?" Markby muttered to Meredith. "Everything is jinxed!"
Five
Superintendent McVeigh slapped his broad hands with their spatulate fingers on the desk and made a hissing noise reminiscent of a steam engine coming to a halt.
"It's a tricky situation. I ought, of course, to take you off the case immediately. You're far too close to it. But on the other hand, that party was like Noah's ark, something of everything there, and no one could argue that you're not the person best placed to deal with such a variety of people." He looked meaningfully at Markby. "You understand the local viewpoint, which could turn out significant. The dead woman belonged to that protest group. You get along with these celebrity types who were all over the place at the time. You know the owner, Schuhmacher. And that's our real problem. How well do you know him?" McVeigh's sharp grey eyes rested on Markby's face.
"Hardly at all!" returned Markby promptly. "I met him a few times literally years ago and hadn't seen him again since until the other day. I was still married when I first met him. Rachel liked going out and having fun. She also collected acquaintances. Schuhmacher at that time had a small riverside restaurant with a fast-growing reputation, and Rachel took it into her head it was her favourite place. We were all younger then. Schuhmacher used to appear on the party circuit himself, probably doing what Rachel was doing, collecting useful names. He'd played ice hockey professionally, either in the States or in Canada, but I can't swear to which. Some of that sportstar aura still clung to him and he hadn't altogether given up the lifestyle. Nowadays, as far as I
can judge, he's sobered down completely and it's business first, foremost and all the time with him."
McVeigh grunted. "He seems to have made money." His fingers thudded a tattoo on the desk. "There's nothing on record known against him. Have you knowledge of any scandal in those far-off days you're talking about?"
"No, none. But I repeat I hardly knew him. Rachel would have known if there were any spicy stories and she never spoke of anything. She would have done! I honestly hadn't expected him to remember me," Markby went on doggedly. "I ran into him by chance and he acted as pleased as punch and invited me along to this party to inaugurate the new business venture. I knew about the hotel because of the fuss locally about it. As to his character as I recall it, even years ago he was basically a bit dour. The strong, silent type but with a shrewd business brain. I don't mean he wasn't likeable enough, always very polite, very professional. But some might find him cold."
"Would he," McVeigh asked slowly, "be more likely to talk freely to you than to an investigating officer he didn't know personally?"
"The honest answer to that is, yes, he would," Markby returned.
"And the same goes for these others, these celebrity guests, Merle, the Fultons and the others?"
"It's possible."
"More to the point," went on McVeigh gloomily, "the area major investigation group hasn't anyone else available or no one as suitable, to put in charge at the moment. One man is on leave touring Europe with a caravan, can't even find him at short notice. Two people are sick. Two have gone up North on that lorry-driver case. That's about to break and I can't call them back. Several others are looking into the sub-post office robbery. And I don't want to ask for anyone to come in from outside because I feel local knowledge may be very important." McVeigh stared out of the window.
"How busy are you with that child molester business? Any more sightings?"
&n
bsp; "No, none. He may have moved on out of the district or he may be lying low. I've got a good man in charge of it, Harris. I'm not involved myself."
"Good. You're reasonably free, then. I shall oversee the Spring wood Hall murder inquiry myself. But I've too much on my plate to go foot-slogging round interviewing witnesses and all the rest of it. You'll have to carry on for the time being, Alan. Report everything to me and don't initiate any action without my sayso, all right?"
Markby nodded glumly. Just great. All the work and none of the freedom to do things his way.
"Of course, if you feel the clash of interests is too great..."
"It's all right, I can manage. What about the film the TV crew took?"
"We've obtained a copy. It's currently being blown up and studied frame by frame but so far it's disappointing. You can nip over and take a look at it before you leave. There was always doubt whether the television company would use any of the footage because it was assumed the occasion wasn't really interesting enough apart from a few known names being there. They covered it in case they were short of material and could use it to fill in. Once they realised a body had been discovered they were keen to film everything, of course. Prior to that, they'd only filmed views of the house and a clip of guests arriving—until the streak. They got a good shot or two of her and it's still possible there might be something in the background. Don't count on it."
McVeigh pushed all the papers back in the cardboard folder from which they'd spilled. "See what you can do. If Morton gets back from Yorkshire ahead of time, he can take over if necessary."
"Some people," said Markby mildly, "might interpret such an action in mid-investigation as a declaration of lack of confidence in my progress."
MURDER AMOMQ U5 59
The superintendent's bushy eyebrows shot up alarmingly.
"Nonsense! You know we've all got every confidence in you! That's why everyone thinks it's time your career moved on and up."
"Can we discuss that some other time?" Markby asked brusquely. "About this case. If I take this on, I'll do it on the strict understanding that I'll be left on it. Unless, needless to say, I feel the slightest tug of loyalties at which point I'll ask myself to be taken off. Of course you're overseeing it and I'll keep you informed. I won't do anything unusual without checking it out with you first. But otherwise I must be able to do things in my own way."
There was a silence. McVeigh wasn't used to having terms dictated to him but for once he conceded defeat gracefully. "All right!" he acknowledged. "But just remember that technically I'm directing this and if the balloon goes up, my name will be attached to it!"
"I'm not sure," said Finlay Ross, "but that I should report you for employing child labour!" He twitched a bushy eyebrow and nodded in the direction of the ramshackle buildings which constituted the Alice Batt Rest Home for Horses and Donkeys.
"Oh, Emma!" exclaimed Zoe, glancing towards the scene which had met the vet's eye.
Emma Danby was engaged in the energetic grooming of an aged donkey. It was large as donkeys went and to reach over its back Emma had to stand insecurely on an upturned bucket. Both the animal's forelegs were distorted by swollen knee joints. It was also possessed of a very large head at the end of a ewe-neck and ears which flopped to either side. No one could have called it an endearing animal or supposed that any amount of currying and brushing could improve its moth-eaten coat. But Emma worked with dedicated ferocity, a small whirlwind of activity in jeans and gumboots.
"I only wish I could afford to pay her something,
poor kid! Even pocket money. But she does it all for love, works herself into a frazzle if I don't stop her. I have physically to pull her away. Mind you, she's a great help and the animals behave wonderfully with her. Horses and children, you know, operate on much the same wave-length. And I do give Emma her lunch when she's here all day. Anyway, her mum is a lawyer and wouldn't let me exploit her if I wanted to."
''And her uncle is in charge of the local cop-shop, as I understand it."
"Chief Inspector Markby, yes."
There was an awkward silence. Forty-eight hours had passed since the murder but the feeling of tension which hung over the whole district had not faded.
"In charge of investigations into the death of your fellow history-buff, isn't he?" Finlay Ross laid the ghost firmly by naming it aloud.
"Yes, poor Ellen. I can't bear to think of her. So— so dreadful. There are no words to describe it. Obscene, somehow. I keep seeing her, crouched in that gap between the wall and the wine racks . . . and the knife sticking out of her neck. She was all curled up like a foetus in the womb."
"I'm an animal doctor not a human one," Finlay growled. "But my advice to you is go and see your medical man and get him to give you something for your nerves. You look, my dear, very stressed."
"No thanks, I'm not a pill-taker. I know I'm stressed. Pills won't help."
"Fine. Then try a tot of whisky."
"Don't like that either. It smells horrid."
Finlay looked shocked to the depths of his Scots soul. "My dear girl! The water of life! Smells horrid? Whatever next? Anyway, a word of caution: don't describe details of the appearance of the deceased to others. I realise I invited it and shouldn't have done. The police might not like it. Careless revelations can prejudice trials, inspire cranks, tip off murderers to cover their tracks or Lord knows what else. Or so I've been informed.
MURDER AMONG U5 61
Now then, let's look at the patient, shall we?"
They walked together across the yard. Emma stopped her manic brushing of the donkey and stood back, purple-faced, sweating and dishevelled. She rubbed a grimy palm over her freckled face leaving it liberally streaked with grease. "Hullo, Mr Ross," she said doubtfully.
"Hullo, Emma! You look about to succumb to spontaneous combustion. Why don't you go and sit down for a bit while I take a look at Maud here?"
The donkey turned her ugly hammer head and leered malevolently at the vet, rolling her heavy top lip back to reveal discoloured teeth.
"Yes, Emma, go over to my trailer and help yourself to some orange squash," Zoe urged.
"I want to know what's wrong with Maud!" Emma stood her ground defiantly.
"And you shall. I'll tell you what Mr Ross has to say just as soon as he's had a chance to look Maud over."
"You're not going to put her down?"
"Guid grief, no," said the vet cheerfully. "Go on, Emma, scram!"
Emma returned him an uncertain smile and wandered away in the general direction of the rickety caravan which was Zoe's home. She cast many a mistrustful glance back at them as she went.
"Move over, old lady!" ordered Finlay. Maud gave a deep groan and shifted about six inches. He ran practised hands over her, looked at her teeth which she allowed him to do with surprising cooperation, pulled affectionately at one of her long drooping ears and returned to the anxiously waiting Zoe. "Just walk her round in a small circle."
Zoe took the halter and urged Maud to accompany her. The donkey lurched forward in ungainly fashion, the distorted knees now more obvious, her forelegs permanently crooked.
"How's she eating?"
"Some things she can't digest but on the whole she eats well."
"Has she any trouble getting up if she lies down?"
"Sometimes. She doesn't lie down much. I think she knows. But actually, I think that's what caused the present aggravation in her knees. She lay down, struggled to get up and knocked her legs against the wall of her stall."
"Quite possible." Finlay scratched Maud's mealy muzzle. "I'll be frank. She's a very old lady in donkey terms and I don't know how she'll cope with the coming winter. At least," he indicated the ramshackle stabling with an apologetic gesture, "not in present conditions. She needs a proper, warm, draught-free loose-box."
"We're not likely to be in our present conditions much longer, much less improved ones!" said Zoe gloomily. "We'll be camping out at the roadside, me and the animals all, if Schuh
macher has his way."
"Well, if you are still here come winter and nothing's changed, I'll have to recommend the old girl is put out of her misery."
"She's not miserable!" Zoe glared at him.
"No, my dear," Finlay said gently, thinking how much this young woman resembled the child Emma in her devotion to these infirm beasts. "Not now, not today with the sun shining on her poor old back. But come wet damp weather and given her rheumaticky knees ..." He shook his head. "She'll be in pain. She'll very likely go down and not be able to get up—get pneumonia quite likely. If she's not in a good, warm dry stable, it just wouldn't be right, lassie. Not all your loving care can prevent her suffering. You know me. I'll never put down an animal I can save. But I won't agree to Maud seeing winter out in these stables. They just aren't adequate."
"I'll find us all somewhere! Something will turn up!" Zoe said desperately.
"I hope it does, Zoe. I hope it does. Well, I must be on my way."
"Thanks, Finlay." Zoe put her hand on his arm.
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"You've been a tower of strength ever since I took over from Miss Batt."
"Pshaw! Only too happy... Wish I could help, financially, I mean. Can't, I'm afraid."
"You do more than enough, Finlay. We couldn't have kept going at all if it wasn't for you."
They walked together across the yard to where the vet's hatchback was parked by the gate. Deep in their conversation, neither of them saw Emma creep out from behind the horsetrough where she had been crouched, listening, nor did they see her put both arms round Maud's scrawny neck and press her face against the rough hair.
Maud hitched up one hind hoof and to the child's snuffles added a long deep sigh of sad acceptance.
Markby at his desk that same Monday was already regretting his assurance to McVeigh that he could manage this case despite his nearness to it. A help or a hindrance in the investigation? Time would tell. In one respect however, it had already disrupted his private life. Hadn't police work always done that? Years ago, when he and Rachel had had so many bitter rows, he had tended to blame his wife for what he had considered her lack of understanding. Since then, however, with the passage of time he had grown more and more sympathetic to her view of things. All those broken dinner dates he had thought of trifling importance, those lost weekends and midnight calls out to her had meant her life was no life. It had not been a good marriage. They would have divorced sooner or later anyway. But the faults had been split pretty evenly between them.
