by Ann Granger
"And you decided to kill her?" Meredith asked incredulously.
"Not straight away, of course not. I negotiated with her via the inquiry agent. But clearly it wasn't going to get us anywhere. I would have paid her off handsomely. I made that quite clear to her. But she didn't want the money. What she wanted was to make Denis jump when she pulled the string. She seemed to think Denis had ditched her and she was out to get him. I realised she wouldn't let go. But I wasn't going to let go either! She should have realised that."
Leah frowned and reached up both hands to push back
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her tangled hair. "I don't know quite when I realised I would have to kill her. Coming down to the opening of Eric's hotel just brought things to a head. I made an arrangement to meet Ellen face to face. I told myself I would make a last appeal but I knew it would be a waste of time. She wasn't going to change her tune.
"We were given the grand tour of the hotel. Do you remember how we traipsed through the kitchens and got in the way of the cooks? The chef was showing off his batterie de cuisine, and I saw the knife just lying there unattended. I had some idea of frightening Ellen. I picked it up and put it in my purse. But once I'd done that, I knew I'd have to use it. It was too late to go back."
Leah met Meredith's horrified gaze and her expression became mulish. "Ellen left me no choice. It was her own fault. She should have taken the money I offered, it was much more than the pathetic pay-outs Denis had been making her. She should have let Denis alone. I did it for him." She saw something in Meredith's face and burst out, "All right, I did it for me! Denis is all I've got! I haven't got anyone else to love! Do you know what it's like, having so much love bottled up inside you and no one to lavish it on? No one to cherish? No one who needs you?"
These last words came out in a vehement croak as Leah's throat succumbed like Meredith's to the aftereffects of smoke.
Meredith said lamely, "Have a barley-sugar. They help."
"Thanks. Have one yourself."
There was another silence broken by the rustle of sweet-papers.
"But Denis himself nearly got arrested for her murder!" Meredith accused suddenly.
"Well, I didn't know your boyfriend was going to be so officious and stupid, did I?" Leah rolled her sweet-wrapper into a tiny ball and hurled it at a distant waste-paper basket. It missed and bounced across the polished
floor. "No, he's not stupid, your Chief Inspector Markby. He's too damn bright. I hadn't counted on his finding out who Ellen really was. Denis says the police got hold of his and Ellen's wedding certificate. He said he ransacked her flat trying to find it but all the time that kid she had made her heiress had it. So, anyhow, now I'll have to come clean and own up to the dirty deed. Blasted nuisance." Leah's voice sounded resentful but resigned.
44 What about the letter?" Meredith indicated it lying on the bedspread.
4 'My confession? Histrionics. Telling all and then swallowing pills like that. I always was a bit of a show-off. It comes of my mother having told me that whatever I did, I should do it with style. Pity my style is so corny."
"You're a gambler, too. You told me that. You liked Marcus to take you to Monte Carlo. That's why you thought you stood a fair chance of getting away with it. Only a gambler would have had the nerve to kill Ellen like that, under our noses."
4 'Exactly. That should have told the police that Denis didn't do it! If he'd even tried he'd only have ended up cutting himself as he did at my dinner party or making a fool of himself as when he threatened Victor. Oh here, take the wretched letter back and deliver it to Markby! I'll tell him all about it when he comes but he might as well have the letter since you rescued it so daringly from the flames!"
44 And Denis?" Meredith asked quietly. 44 Does he realise you killed her?"
Leah's tired smile was a mockery of its usual brilliance. 44 Oh yes. I think Denis suspected quite early on. But he couldn't bring himself to face up to it. That's Denis's problem, you know, facing up to unpleasant facts." She turned her face towards the window and the dull vista outside. "All such a pity, really."
"The pity," Meredith heard herself say, "is that Marcus is dead but won't lie down."
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"That's Marcus for you." And for a moment, a glimmer of amusement lightened Leah's doleful countenance.
Outside in the corridor again, Meredith tried to marshal her thoughts. What she had heard was what she'd come to hear but it had still been a shock, listening to the actual words on Leah's lips.
Her attention was attracted by squeaky footsteps and looking up, she saw to her great surprise Hope Mapple plodding down the corridor towards her.
Hope was wearing a flowing dark blue garment and carrying a large shopping bag bulging with rolls of coloured paper and balls of string. She wore plimsoles and their rubber soles adhered to the wax polished floor in a series of protesting squeals.
"Hullo!" she boomed cheerily. "Visiting the sick?"
"Yes. What are you doing here?"
"It's one of my therapy days. Arts and crafts, you know, help post-operative blues no end. I see Mrs. Fulton is in here today. Do you think she'd be interested to learn macrame? There's something very satisfying and therapeutic in all those knots."
"I really don't think," said Meredith firmly, "that she's up to macrame today. Better leave it for a while."
"Right-o." Ms. Mapple paused and the blue tent quivered. "Pity about the damage to the Hall. Pity about young Robin, too. He always seemed such an excessively normal sort of boy, bit intense perhaps. It might have been a mental breakdown. Wonder if they'll put him in the psychiatric ward here? I do a lot of arts and crafts with the confused."
"I don't know about that. I think he probably knew what he was doing. It was a wicked act and a mercy no one died."
"It's the end of the historical society, anyway," said Hope. "Charles and I held a winding-up meeting. But we've heard of a plan to clear the last big area of native woodland round here and plant another of those ghastly
commercial conifer plantations in its place. There's talk of forming a protest committee and mounting a really cracking campaign. Charles and I feel that with our experience we ought to offer ourselves."
Clearly an offer the woodland committee could not refuse. "I hope you have better luck this time."
"Oh, I think we'll stir things up a bit. I must be on my way. Collage day in the children's ward."
Meredith waited as Hope squeaked her way out of sight and then set off on her own errand, to deliver Leah's letter to Alan Markby.
Twenty-Five
They consigned Ellen Bryant to ashes in the presence of few mourners.
Chief Inspector Markby and Sergeant Pearce attended as the investigating officers into her death. The Chamber of Commerce sent a deputation as a tribute to a late colleague. Fidgeting in their black ties they were obviously ill at ease and anxious to be out of the plain little crematorium chapel. Hope Mapple in purple and Zoe Foster were there as Ellen's fellow history buffs. Charles Grimsby came and stood together with his business friends, well away from both women, obviously signifying to anyone who was interested that he was there as a member of the business community and certainly not as one of the now defunct historical society. Of them all most grief was shown by Margery Collins who snuffled loudly throughout the brief address into a damp handkerchief.
Denis Fulton didn't put in an appearance which did not surprise Markby. But he was slightly shocked that Denis had not even sent a wreath to his former wife's obsequies. Perhaps Denis was simply too embarrassed in the circumstances. Embarrassment, thought Markby wryly, was an emotion not to be underestimated. It influenced people's actions powerfully
Later in the day, he and Meredith Mitchell sat side by side on a fallen mossy tree trunk, on the edge of the wild wood which bordered the pine plantation. Before them the land dropped away in a steep grassy slope. Springwood Hall, its east wing heavily scaffolded, lay
ahead and below.
A short distance from the hotel the sun shone on the unsightly buildings of the Alice Batt Rest Home. The animals grazing in the paddock looked from this point like the wooden beasts inhabiting a toy farm. Only Maud was identifiable, even at such a distance, by the distinctive lurch of her progress toward a patch of fresh grass. It was even clear enough today to make out, on the horizon, a tiny exclamation mark which was the spire of Bamford church.
Meredith picked at a loose piece of bark on the tree trunk. It came away and a beetle ran out, fell off and disappeared among the dry leaves at her feet.
4 'You've heard about the Save our Bamford Woods committee?"
"Haven't I just..." said Markby gloomily. "My sympathies are with their aims. It's the presence of Hope Mapple in their ranks which worries me! I understand Hope proposes to chain herself to a tree if there's any attempt to fell it."
"I rather like Hope. I think she's all that's endearingly eccentric about the British and she's very kind. She spends hours working with the disadvantaged. I'm more worried what will happen to Leah."
"Save your sympathy. Leah Fulton has the best legal representatives and eminent medical men galore to testify to her having been under intolerable strain. And whatever she may have said to you, she's now claiming she took the knife for self-defense because she was afraid Ellen might attack her. Leah is a shrewd and resourceful woman."
"You know, she'd be so pleased to hear herself described like that. She hates being thought a butterfly. Will they get her off?"
"I trust not entirely. But I suspect they'll minimise the repercussions. That's only my opinion."
"And did you really think at one time that Denis had killed Ellen?"
He pursed his lips. "Put it this way. I was sure one
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of the Fultons had. Taking Denis in shook the truth out of the woodwork."
"You took a heck of a risk!" said Meredith accusingly. "Leah might have died! It was only the fire which made me break into her room and find her. You played ducks and drakes with her emotional state. She was devastated when you marched Denis away!"
"I didn't think she'd swallow pills!" he defended himself. "But I had to break up the double act. They were too good at it."
Meredith picked out another piece of loose bark. "Why were you so sure the killer had to be either Denis or Leah?"
"They had motive," said Markby simply. "People don't usually murder for no reason."
"I still think you took an unwarranted risk. You walked awfully near the edge, Alan. Suppose Robin Harding hadn't been eaten up with jealousy and set fire to the hotel?"
"I know," said Markby abruptly.
They sat in silence for a while. "Poor Eric, all that work to be done all over again," said Meredith, gazing down at the damaged hotel.
"Eric assures me that Ulli Richter is the mildest man alive outside of his kitchen, but he managed to give young Harding a terrific fright!" returned Markby with every sign of satisfaction. "When Eric came on them, Robin was fairly gibbering, sure Richter meant to bash his skull in. Arson endangering life is a serious crime and Harding will have plenty of time to reflect on the error of his ways when he gets sent down."
"Hope thinks he blew a mental fuse. I suppose he was driven by jealousy. But this has all been about jealousy, hasn't it? Robin jealous of Eric. Denis jealous of Victor Merle. Even poor Ellen jealous because Denis was happily married and had forgotten her. Then Ellen's jealousy collided with the sort of frustrated mother love Leah has for Denis. How frightening that kind of obsessive love can be. Leah was prepared to kill for him
almost instinctively, just as Maud killed to protect Emma."
"Oy!" interrupted Markby firmly. "Leah took the knife and hid it in her purse knowing she'd arranged a secret meeting with Ellen later. Premeditation—good and proper! However, as I've already indicated, it's not for you and me to argue that one out. Lawyers and doctors will."
"Alan..." Meredith said slowly after a while. "I don't want to sound conceited but you're never, well, jealous, are you? Of me?"
"Of you? Of course not!" said Markby robustly.
"Oh." Well, that's plain enough! thought Meredith. Made a fool of yourself, Mitchell! Why should he care what you do?
Suddenly Markby beside her blurted, "Yes, of course I am! Not exactly green-eyed with it. I recognise you're a free agent. I don't have any rights. But I do sometimes wonder if you've got anyone in London."
"No, I'm not seeing anyone else. Are you?"
"What? Lord, no."
"That's all right, then. Alan, have you heard any more about promotion or leaving Bamford? You've been very quiet about it."
"I'm not going. I've told 'em so. It's all on ice for the time being. Jones will have to give everyone their money back."
"I wondered because I've been thinking of taking a little holiday. Just a week, perhaps, not going far. Just somewhere quiet."
"Somewhere quiet, eh?" said Markby. "Sounds pretty good to me."
Zoe straightened up with a muffled groan and rested on her muckfork, one hand clasped to the small of her back. A mountain of soiled straw surrounded her and did not seem to have got any smaller for all that she'd been toiling for ages. She'd have to get Finlay over again about the piebald cob's digestive problem. She hoped it
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wasn't due to grass. Mostly the horses got upset if they didn't get grass; but the cob had always been an oddity. All around the evidence of his oddness was clearly visible to say nothing of the smell. Average mucking out was bad enough. They didn't need complications.
It would be nice to have help. But Emma had gone back to school and no one else had volunteered. But anyway, perhaps it wasn't for much longer. The six months was nearly up. They'd get their marching orders any day now.
From outside came the distinctive screech of the yard gate. When she had a moment, she really ought to get round to oiling it. Zoe went to the barn door and peered out to see who the visitor might be. To her surprise and dismay she saw Eric Schuhmacher striding purposefully across the yard towards her. He was wearing old cord trousers and yes, Wellington boots. And he didn't look like a man who'd come to waste words.
So sentence of execution was about to be delivered. She hadn't seen Schuhmacher since storming out of his dining room. She'd thought about going to see him and apologising for Rob's actions. Not that it was her fault Rob had set fire to the hotel, but she was in a moral sort of way responsible.
She'd even got as far as the hotel drive and then the sight of the burned out east wing and the men clearing out the charred furniture from the dining room had filled her with such horror and guilt that she had simply turned and run. Facing him had just been impossible.
But she had to face him now. He'd reached the barn door.
"Miss Foster?"
"Good morning, Mr. Schuhmacher."
"We could perhaps have a word?" Eric paused and sniffed the air. "Outside in the yard would be preferable."
Zoe trailed out still holding the fork. "I realise why you've come, Mr. Schuhmacher. I haven't been able to make alternative arrangements for the animals."
But she had the money now, thanks to Margery. That was the awful part. She had the money for new stable buildings but not the nerve to ask Schuhmacher if he was still willing to let her lease the new site and the cottage. He'd refuse. Of course he would. Especially since Rob had burned down half Springwood Hall! And the awful embarrassing scene she'd made in front of his guests. How could he forgive her that? How furious with them all Schuhmacher must be.
He said rather testily now, "Alternative arrangements are available as I made clear to you some time ago!"
Zoe's heart rose and then plummeted. "You—you'd still consider leasing us the new site?" No, of course he didn't mean that. He couldn't, surely?
"Of course, why not?"
"I thought you'd be too angry." She gazed at him bewildered.
He scowled at her in a most ferocious and alarming manner. "And wh
y, Miss Foster, should I be so angry as to go back on my offer? It is not my habit to do such a thing. I am a man of my word!"
"No, I wasn't suggesting you—I mean, I made a scene at the hotel and Robin tried to burn it down. I am so very sorry about all of it. If you're still willing to let me lease the new site, it's incredibly generous of you. I'm so grateful. Will you rebuild the hotel?"
"Yes. I've already engaged a builder. It is a set-back but it is not your fault. I shall begin again."
"That's very courageous of you," said Zoe simply.
Eric stared at her. Then he said very quietly, "I am not the only courageous one. You too have a great deal of courage.
"Zoe, when I was a young man, your age—" He paused and shrugged resignedly. "I dedicated my life to a sport and spent all my time perfecting my skills at it. I didn't worry myself what I was going to do twenty years later when the sporting life was well over and I'd be in situations calling for quite different skills which I hadn't had time to learn. To learn them now in middle
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age is difficult. On the ice I was quick and clever, with you I'm clumsy and stupid. Old dogs don't learn new tricks and I doubt I'll ever learn these now! But you have time for so many other cranky old beasts, so perhaps you can find it in your heart to be kind to this one? The hotel is not the only thing in which I should like to begin again—if it's possible."
Zoe shifted her feet and drew a line in the dust with the upturned handle of the fork. "Urn, yes. So—so would I."
"In fact, to show I am quite willing to adjust my ideas completely, I have come here today to work."
"What?" She gaped at him.
Eric removed the fork her grasp. "I shall finish this task. Only show me where I am to begin."
Zoe warned, "It's a bit smelly. One of them's got an upset turn."
Grim resolution crossed Eric's face. "Nevertheless, I shall do it."
