‘Oh, good heavens, of course not, absolutely not,’ Hunter agreed readily.
It was controlled, but to their experienced eyes unmistakable. The relaxation of tension — as if someone in that room had uttered the merest breath of a sigh.
‘But you said... if I can just find it... ’ Hunter laboriously returned to his notes. The words were not written there, they were in the repository of his brain — waiting for rediscovery precisely because they told him what he needed to know. ‘You said... ah... here... day and night aren't always readily distinguishable to her.’
‘Not unusual in the old, Mr Hunter.’
‘Very true. In view of that it would be pointless to expect her to corroborate your timetable. However, I think, WPC Jones — perhaps you... ?’ He looked hopefully towards Annette, who briskly produced her pocket book.
Hunter said, ‘That row of houses on The Green — villas, I think the Victorians called them — very nice... The one where Miss Riggs lives is converted into flats, she has a small first floor flat — well, as she doesn’t get about she doesn’t need anything more spacious, and she does have a lovely outlook on to The Green. There are three others, I think, larger ones... ’ He looked to Helen for confirmation; she returned a quizzical glance, as if trying to work out why he had started to ramble. ‘ — you know the owners of those flats, and they know you. Yes. On the evening we’re speaking of — ’ he paused.
Annette said, ‘You stayed only half an hour with Miss Riggs, leaving at about 7.30.’
Helen’s reaction was a small, surprised sound; she put her hand to her mouth, frowned thoughtfully. After a moment her face lightened. ‘Ah, it’s true there have been one or two occasions when poor Martha needed only to sleep and then there was really nothing to do except tuck her in and leave her to it. The old are never predictable, as I’m sure you'll appreciate. Yes — there could very well have been one of those occasions round about that time — not that evening — the neighbours obviously confused it with another occasion. After all, one would not expect them to remember with accuracy — it was just another evening to them, but in view of what transpired, it had so much more significance to me.’
Hunter, following closely, leaned forward, puzzled. ‘So... what you are saying is that you stayed with Miss Riggs, didn’t leave her till approximately quarter to eleven, and arrived home here at say, eleven.’
For the first time, Helen smiled. ‘Precisely, Mr Hunter.’
A pause. A testing silence.
At last, Hunter said, ‘Will you reconsider what you have just said?’
She was perfectly composed. ‘I can see no reason to.’
Hunter looked down at his notebook as if uncertain. Annette said, ‘Perhaps you made another call that evening after leaving Miss Riggs — went somewhere else — and have forgotten.’
‘I made no more calls.’
Hunter nodded, sighed, put his pocket book away. He sat back, strong hands comfortably folded. Annette drifted, eventually settling on the arm of a well-upholstered chair, quietly engaged with her notes.
Helen, distracted, followed Annette’s movements. At last, when the room seemed to have regained its equilibrium, she turned back to Hunter. He said, ‘On the night when your brother failed to turn up at the bus shelter to collect Beattie, there was nothing for her to do except start walking. The next time she was seen — the last time anyone saw her alive — was shortly before nine when she approached Miller’s Bridge. Now... what was she doing all that time? Where was she? Who was she with?’
Helen sat unmoving, her expression detached.
Hunter nodded, as if in agreement, as if she had communicated something decisive. ‘Yes, of course. The important thing was to establish her route. She had a choice. I — er — think I’ve got it right, WPC Jones? Just past the end of the old Hambling Road — ’
‘Yes. Pinfold Lane, goes off to the left. Eventually it joins the main road about quarter of a mile before Miller’s Bridge.’
‘Not much used, I understand.’
‘By motorists, no. It’s very winding, rather a nuisance.’
As they talked, Annette occasionally consulting her notes, Helen held her poise, politely waiting for them to complete their arcane conversation and leave. As the exchange continued she was drawn irresistibly to follow it, shifting her position, turning her head.
‘But then, of course, Beattie was walking.’
‘Yes, guv, she’d never had a car.’
‘No... She was used to finding her way about, the distance wasn’t too great, she was dressed for the rain. And Pinfold Lane is the shorter route.’
‘So, logically, we’d expect her to take it. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Willoughby?’ Hunter asked.
‘I really can’t see my agreement would affect the course of this conversation,’ Helen said levelly.
‘Oh, wouldn’t you?’ Hunter enquired pleasantly. ‘Well, as you’re local, and you know the lie of the land, so to speak, you would know that the shortest way from the bus shelter to Liz’s would be by Pinfold Lane.’
Helen said nothing, her face was expressionless.
Annette came to stand by her chair. ‘You knew, of course, that Reggie was in the habit of taking Beattie to Liz’s?’
Helen cast about, trying to get her mental balance.
‘Liz would have told you,’ Hunter said, matter-of-fact. 'She wouldn’t, of course, have told anyone else, but as you’re both so close — ’
Helen said, ‘She told you?’
‘Ah, it’s our business to know all sorts of things.’
Annette hovered, solicitous. ‘You did know, didn’t you — I mean about Reggie using Liz’s house as a kind of lark — so like him. How long have you known, Miss Willoughby?’
‘I didn’t say I — ’
Hunter said, ‘Oh, you mean it wasn’t Liz who told you? It was someone else?’
‘No. That is — ’
Hunter said to Annette, ‘Can you think of anyone else who knows?’
‘Unless Liz told someone as well as you, Miss Willoughby. Did she say she had?’
‘She would say nothing of the sort — ’
‘No, I agree, it wouldn’t be likely... You didn’t mention it to anyone? After Liz told you?’
‘This is absurd — ’
‘Yes, it is really, just not the kind of thing you’d chat casually about — ’
‘I have never — Oh, this is so confusing, so — ’ Helen tilted her head down, put her fine-bread hand to her brow.
Hunter rose from his chair. ‘I’m sorry, are you feeling faint? Would you like WPG Jones to fetch you a glass of water?’
‘No, I would not,’ Helen said shortly, looking for an instant as if she was about to pick up the nearest delicate china ornament and hurl it at Hunter. She made an effort at composure, unnecessarily patting her hair into place. Her fingers trembled.
The merest hint of a nod from Hunter to Annette...
Earlier, talking it over, he told her what he knew — ‘But then there’s all the rest I don't know. I have to get her to tell me... ’
He had been working towards it, using anything, whatever opportunity offered, seeking the hairline crack in Helen’s defence.
‘Of course,’ Hunter said, hand to forehead, triumphantly making a discovery, turning to Annette. ‘When we were talking about her route — Now, how’s this? Instead of turning left, if she’d kept straight on, she’d be on the main road. Straight to Miller’s Bridge, then on to Liz’s.’
‘Yes, and she’d know it because that’s the way Reggie would have driven her.’
‘Exactly.’ He pondered. ‘And... Just a short stretch of it is along Woodside. Right past here, as a matter of fact.’
They were both silent, standing looking down at Helen. When she did not speak, Hunter said quietly, ‘Isn’t that so, Miss Willoughby?’
‘I really can’t think what all this... I don’t know what you’re... ’
Hunter resumed his seat. His voice
was kind and calm. ‘Beattie told you, didn’t she? She was looking for Reggie — she knew this was his home, he’d pointed it out to her once when they drove past. She was very angry, she suspected he had stood her up — and she was right. Just after you arrived back here from your shortened visit to — ’
‘I stayed with Martha, I stayed with her the usual time,’ Helen said in a voice that was toneless, from which the strength had gone.
‘You left her early. You came back here. And Beattie knocked on the door. Didn’t she?’ He waited.
She looked away from him, gazing towards the window with eyes that saw nothing.
Hunter spoke quietly, without accusation. ‘When I asked myself where Beattie was that missing hour and a half, I knew there was only one place where she logically could be. Here... But in that weather she’d hardly be waiting outside. She’d keep going, on to Liz’s — delayed, yes — in the hope of finding Reggie there. Because he wasn’t here, his alibi held. So did yours... Until I looked at it more closely and realised it was worthless. That old lady couldn’t remember what had happened five minutes before, much less testify to your presence. Who could? The neighbours. They knew you, your footsteps, your car... And when we discovered from them that you had lied to us about the time you left... We knew you would have only one reason.’
He was silent, watching her. Eventually, she said, ‘You are not going to believe me if I deny it.’
‘You aren’t going to deny it because it’s true. And it's time you told the truth about this, isn’t it?’
She crossed her arms, hugging herself; she had grown very pale. Annette took a seat beside her. ‘Are you cold? Would you like me to get you a cardigan?’
‘If you’d be kind enough to switch on the fire — it’s quite a simple mechanism. I was in the kitchen when you called, it's warm there... Thank you.’ She sat ordering her thoughts. ‘I’ve never done anything wrong in my life before this. The burden of guilt has been almost more than I can bear. At times, I just wanted to... Yes. She came here. You know' why, don’t you? Oh, she was looking for Reggie — but do you know why? Why... all of it.’
‘Her mother. All those years ago.’ Hunter had not the faintest idea which direction to move after that, there was no solid ground beneath his feet; but he sat looking as authoritative as if his entire consciousness was inscribed with every last particle of the doings of the Willoughby family.
‘All those years ago, indeed,’ Helen murmured. ‘How did you... No matter, that’s your job, isn’t it? To find out secrets. And I think, without any idea of what she was doing, my dear Liz — ’ Pain crossed her face, at once shut away behind a calm pride. ‘I opened the door and that woman pushed past me, shouting, “Where is he?” and swearing, going in and out of the rooms, shouting and swearing. If anyone had been here... I thought perhaps I should call the police — but she kept shouting Reggie’s name, and it’s my instinct to protect him. I began to understand what she was saying. That she and Reggie had been — that he was now trying to avoid her — she was not going to be cast aside — I managed to calm her somewhat, although that scarcely helped, her rage simply became more focussed. This woman I had never set eyes on in my life had a very special hatred for me. I was attempting to influence Reggie, to “come between them”. She called me the most insulting names... ’ She lost momentum, perhaps in the recollection of shock, sat looking helplessly down at her hands.
By the subtlest of indications, Hunter passed to Annette: this is woman’s work.
Annette said, ‘Until that moment, Miss Willoughby, you really had no idea he had formed this relationship? Look, what I’m trying to say — when my brother’s involved with someone, his manner changes, little things... I can’t say I know, but some sixth sense tells me what’s going on.’
‘How understanding you are. Now I can see why Liz likes you so much.’
Oh, Christ, I haven’t got a brother... Hunter’s eye upon her, professional, approving: you’ll do well.
‘Of course I knew there was something. But, you must understand... Reggie did have — flirtations, but always such nice girls. I would have thought she was making it all up, but, no, she knew Reggie. It was she who told me they used Liz’s house — they had to be secret, until they were ready to approach me. Only... time was going by, she had become impatient, and it was only too evident Reggie had changed his mind about their — about — He was supposed to marry her — ’ She spoke not in rejection but incredulity; however often she might replay the scene in her mind she had never managed to make herself believe in anything so preposterous. ‘It was something she regarded as owing to her. If he refused, if I attempted to put obstacles in their way, she would make scenes all over Hambling, she would let everyone know what had been going on, and why. I tried to reason with her, I tried to bribe her. She didn’t want money, not of itself, she wanted status, security, respect. She wanted first place here, as Reggie’s — wife. It was unthinkable. I would be allowed to stay, provided I behaved; if not, she told me in the plainest, coarsest terms, that she would make my life hell.’
‘Surely,’ Annette said, ‘you didn’t believe he would agree to anything like that?’
‘No, that was why I tried to calm her, to find out how this — this nightmare had come about. It soon became obvious that he hadn’t known what she had in mind when they began this — association. When he realised that everything was getting completely out of hand — he tried to buy her off. But no... ’
‘We began to suspect, early in our enquiries, that Beattie was putting pressure on him,’ Hunter lied comfortably. ‘She was a tough woman, she’d had a hard life, he’d have a devil of a job standing tip to her. And he felt sorry for her — after all, she did have a grievance.’
‘Of course she had a grievance. Unfortunately, she had made him the means of settling it. I would have been only too relieved to compensate her in other ways. It was my duty, after all.’
Hunter took out his handkerchief, coughed politely into it. It was a sign that he had no idea what Helen was talking about. Annette signalled back in silent panic: neither do I. Time to tread softly.
‘Yes, yes, I can see that,’ Hunter said judicially. ‘This was all the heat of the moment — fury for her, distress for you. Didn't you think that given time, a little calming down — ’
‘I didn't think at all, Mr Hunter. That woman and I didn’t speak the same language. She had made up her mind that the price of her recompense was marriage to Reggie. Her entitlement, she called it. She was frightening and threatening and she had every intention of shattering my life, and Reggie’s and Liz’s. She went out as she had come, yelling and violent. She was going to Liz’s — she had got it into her head that Reggie would eventually turn up there. She intended to stay until he did, even if it took days — she had nothing else to do. And she would make herself known to the neighbours — unless he put in an appearance. Then she stamped off, down the drive, out of the gate. I stood there, in the hall, watching her. I couldn’t move. My mind had seized up. I don’t know how long it was before... ’ She shook her head, bewildered.
‘What did you do?’ Hunter asked softly.
‘It’s odd. I don’t remember. Oh, I know what I did but I simply don’t remember doing it. I put on my coat, got my car out... and went after her.’
Twenty-Two
The sky was so dark Liz had to turn the lights on in her house. The rain was all around, heating, gushing, drumming, the noise so invasive she hesitated once, up in her workroom, wondering if she had imagined the sound of someone trying the kitchen door. A few moments later the front doorbell rang and she went to answer it. A figure stood in the porch against the deluged background — a figure so shrouded in rainwear that for a mad instant she thought it was old Mr Truelove. What was he doing on her doorstep?
Then she recognised Paula, groaned inwardly recalling their last meeting. Paula thrust past her, marched into the kitchen, where she stood dripping, removing her sou’wester. Her expression was so
unpleasant Liz came to a full stop in the kitchen doorway. Oh, God, not another scene.
Paula’s voice was flat and harsh. ‘You ignored me. You ignored what I said to you.’ Released from the sou’wester, her beautiful hair slid and rippled round her shoulders. Her face was blotchy; she always had a staring look, now her eyes seemed fixed.
Liz suppressed a rush of irritation, leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded, the picture of relaxation. ‘Good morning, Liz, may I come in? Please do, how are you, Paula? Fine, and you? — ’
‘Shut up, you supercilious bitch. Why can’t you mind your own business? Do you know who phoned me the other night? That fucking stupid Melanie Beadnall. Screeching at me from the minute I picked up the phone — ‘Tell that bitch Liz Farrell to stop sending the police here — I never spoke, not a word — just hung up when she’d finished. And that sanctimonious old bag who lives next door to me took great pleasure in telling me a policeman had called on Thursday. As if I didn’t know, I saw him cross the square from Melanie’s so I didn’t answer the door. I’ve got nothing to say to him and I’m damned if I want to listen to him.’
Not speaking on the phone, not answering the door... Perhaps some awful illness had come upon Paula, making her reclusive, paranoid. Liz moved forward, steadying hand outstretched, ‘Paula, are you all right?’
Paula knocked her hand away with bruising force. ‘Keep your concern for yourself, you’re going to need it. You sent him round there, didn’t you? Didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes, all right. I did. But just calm down and listen. I tried to get hold of you first, when Melanie told me, last Sunday. To talk to you — after all, it sounded so odd she could have got it wrong. And then, when I couldn’t get in touch with you, in the week, I thought I’d speak to DCI Hunter — ’
‘Oh, yes,’ Paula sneered. ‘This is the general run of police work, is it? He harasses and badgers inoffensive members of the public as a favour to you so he can get inside your knickers.’
‘Just which inoffensive members of the public did you have in mind? Melanie? A minute ago you were calling her a fucking bitch. You? As you made sure you weren’t available I don’t see what you’ve got to complain about.’
Cruel as the Grave Page 18
