Dead Again

by Jennie Melville

  That would be edited out too, Charmian thought.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I knew she was going to blow up with something, I could see it coming,’ Charmian said as they walked away. ‘Of course, it’s rubbish what she said but I can’t help feeling there is something in it.’

  Outside in the road, there was a rough-haired figure pacing up and down.

  ‘That dog,’ said Charmian, ‘what is he doing here?’

  ‘Came to find you, I expect,’ said Dolly, but without believing it. She had never seen an animal so set on pursuing its own agenda as this mongrel, and she did not think Charmian was on it.

  ‘I’ll take the dog back and shut him up.’

  But the dog, faithful to his own plans, had disappeared.

  There followed one of those periods of calm when nothing much seemed to be happening in any of the cases that interested Charmian and her team.

  Rewley seemed to find what he was doing in Kingston interesting but he was reserved about what, if anything, he got from it. He was still working on it: Archival work was always slow, he explained, but he did not neglect any of the other cases he was working on, and produced his usual meticulous reports on time. He was also preoccupied with looking for Charlie Rattle, who remained elusive. He rejected all ideas that Charlie might have skipped the country on the grounds that no country in the world would accept Charlie on his appearance alone, not to mention that he had no money and no passport. ‘He’s around,’ Rewley claimed, ‘ this is the only world he knows. Only I haven’t found him yet.’

  Dolly was preoccupied with a possible child-abuse case in a family hostel. Her energies were, for the moment, diverted from the local murders.

  All of them in SRADIC were used to working on more than one problem at once. They were expected, as Charmian said once, to be as many headed as a hydra.

  Beryl Andrea Barker’s hairdressing salon in Windsor was still closed by the police while they went over it, even including Baby’s private apartments.

  ‘They suspect me,’ said Baby on the telephone to Charmian. ‘I know they do. Can’t blame ’em.’

  Charmian had demurred but she knew it was true. Baby was a suspect, more for want of anyone else.

  ‘I’m moving my stylists and assistants to the Slough establishment, it’s not far away, and I shall give a reduction to clients who follow me there. For the first few appointments, anyway,’ added Baby frugally. ‘And as soon as I get the police off the Windsor place, I’ll ask my old friend, Mr Chappell, to come and remodel the whole salon so there is no memory left of what happened there. I will wipe it all out.’ With her usual hard-headed good sense, she said, ‘It needed doing anyway. You‘ll follow me, won’t you?’

  Charmian was reassuring. ‘Of course. I won’t abandon you.’

  ‘I thought you’d say that. And I think most of my clients will follow me.’ She added, a touch smugly, ‘I do Lady Brittlebay’s hair now, you know, she writes the best detective stories anyone ever wrote. Enormous sales.’ Baby respected that part, no need to read the books, just to know that much. ‘I’ve made a great improvement to her hair.’

  ‘I thought you’d cut most of it off.’

  ‘Well, you have to be ruthless. And a short cut eliminates a lot of problems.’

  Charmian ran her hand over her hair and resolved not to be barbered into oblivion.

  ‘She cried a bit at first, well, that’s natural, happens to quite a few ladies. But you have to talk them through it, I said, “Get yourself some lovely big earrings. Gold and a bit of glitter … and some dark spectacles and you’ll be surprised how you look.” ’

  ‘I understand she was,’ said Charmian.

  Later that day, Charmian went to call on Joan Dingham. Before this visit, she spoke to Dr Greenham about her. ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘We’ve had quite a few upsets, haven’t we?’ he replied cautiously. ‘The odd murder. But she seems over that now. She’s a hard worker, reads all the books, takes notes at the lectures. She’s in the library a lot. Written work is a bit weak but we can help with that. Yes, she’s got the potential for a good student.’

  ‘I thought I’d go to see her again. The last time we met she was a bit up in the clouds …’ She paused.

  ‘Yes, she accused the sister of killing that woman Diana.’

  ‘Rubbish, of course. No one believed it.’

  ‘I was willing to,’ said Dr Greenham. ‘In fact, I think I would have been pleased if she had …’ he paused ‘… I don’t like either of them, you know.’

  ‘Not even the sister?’

  ‘No, there’s something about them that worries me. Call me imaginative, if you like.’

  I might call you prejudiced, said Charmian to herself.

  ‘When is the best time to go visiting?’

  ‘Joan has a lecture and a tutorial this morning.’

  ‘Right.’

  So that’s when I will go, she thought, I’ll see Lou on her own. Also do some looking round. I will telephone ahead to make sure she is in.

  She drove round to Lou’s in her own car. ‘Make it informal,’ she told herself. ‘Keep it casual.’

  Emily was not there, she was at the lecture with Joan, but Lou was at home. She was welcoming.

  ‘Glad to see you, Miss Daniels. Come in. You want to see Joan, I expect? She’s at a lecture.’

  Charmian avoided a direct answer. ‘She’s doing well, isn’t she?’

  ‘Very well, so they say. And she’s happy doing it. She’s always been clever.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Charmian. She had never thought Joan stupid.

  ‘Like a drink? Coffee, sherry?’

  ‘Coffee would be fine, thank you.’

  ‘You sit there by the window while I get some. I would enjoy a cup myself.’

  While Lou disappeared into the kitchen, Charmian looked around her.

  A neat, well-furnished room with a sofa and matching chairs covered in flowered chintz, the curtains were a different material but the colour harmonized. Pale carpet covered the floor. A few books on the table, they looked like books which Joan was using. One big picture on the wall, a reproduction of a Constable landscape.

  And there was the photograph which had interested her: a row of girls in school uniform. She thought she could recognize Joan. On the breast of each girl was a badge, the design of which closely resembled the carving cut into the flesh of Joan’s victims and again, although less skilfully, on the two recent murdered girls.

  The photograph was simply pasted onto a pale green card. Charmian would have picked it up for a closer look but Lou returned with the coffee.

  ‘That’s a school photograph of Joan,’ said Lou. ‘I kept it by me because for years it was the only photograph I had of her. I keep it out now for old times’ sake, I suppose.’

  ‘You must have missed her.’

  ‘It was more complicated than that,’ said Lou with a slight smile. ‘As I daresay you can work out for yourself.’

  The air in the room was warm and scented with something, a perfumed candle perhaps, or air freshener. Too sweet and sickly for Charmian’s taste. She turned back to the photograph.

  ‘Are you in it?’

  Lou was pouring the coffee. ‘No, not that group. I’m a year or two younger than Joan. We weren’t that close as kids.’

  ‘When I saw you together, I thought you were fond of each other.’ Lou nodded. ‘Oddly enough, it grew with the years … of course,

  she could always explode. I mean, you saw that, accusing me of

  killing Diana – whom I didn’t like I have to admit. She didn’t mean

  it, it was one of her wild fits. To understand her, you have to accept

  that.’

  Several dead girls had had to accept it too, Charmian thought.

  ‘Our parents never could. Mum died before … well, before you

  know what, and Dad not long before, but he was always … well,

  tough on Joan, not so much with me. Sh
e wasn’t loved.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Not really, but I didn’t mind.’

  You always had a hard centre, which saw you through, thought

  Charmian. How odd, it’s you that are the tough one, I can see that

  now, while Joan …

  She gave up trying to assess Joan at that point.

  ‘Is Rhos in the picture?’

  Lou took her time filling a cup for Charmian, then carrying it

  across to her. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Rhos is there. Would you like

  a biscuit?’

  Charmian refused the biscuit as she drank her coffee. The only

  picture in the room, apart from the Constable reproduction, was

  that school picture.

  Did that mean anything or nothing?

  ‘It was important to you,’ she ventured.

  Lou said without emotion that she supposed it had been. ‘Outlived

  its time though now, I could throw it away.’

  ‘Perhaps Joan would like it,’ said Charmian. She picked it up

  for a closer look.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so, in fact she suggested that I get rid of it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I would want an old school portrait of myself

  around.’ By picking up the photograph she had pulled it away

  from the green cardboard.

  She saw that on the back of the photograph a schoolgirl scrawl

  read: Cathy Cathedral.

  She raised an eyebrow at Lou. ‘What does that mean?’

  Lou shrugged and shook her head. ‘ No idea.’

  ‘Someone tall with a pointed head,’ suggested Charmian, with a laugh.

  Lou did not join in the laugh.

  ‘Could I keep this photograph?’ asked Charmian. ‘ I’ll give you a receipt, of course.’

  ‘Why? Why should you want it?’

  ‘Just for the record,’ said Charmian.

  Outside, with the photograph tucked away inside her big bag, Charmian wondered why she had been allowed to get away with it. She had an idea that Lou, just as clever in her own way as Joan, had been willing, even eager for her to take it away.

  In the car she sat for a while studying it.

  Cathy Cathedral, who are you?

  There was a tall girl behind Rhos in the photograph, so perhaps this was the source of the joke.

  She stowed the photograph away again, then looked up at the flat where Lou lived. There was Lou at the window looking down on her. With deliberation, Charmian raised her hand to give a wave before she drove off. Lou did not wave back.

  She opened the window as she drove, feeling the need to get the smell of that stuffy flat out of her nose and to let the air from the Great Park sweep in.

  The dog, strolling insolently, tail aloft, through the Great Park was snuffing the sweet leafy air, to which he was indifferent, but he was picking up other, more animal, scents.

  He had been moving steadily through the park for some time now and was perfectly happy. His search was going well. Not being a thinker, he did not have to ask himself why he was searching: it was just something dogs did, or his particular type of dog. Many generations back, there had been an Alsatian in his family tree and the gene for searching was still there. It was a pleasure to obey it.

  He had two good smells to follow which seemed to run together, but he was concentrating on one, the other was an extra. He ploughed on. If a dog could be said to smile, he was smiling.

  Ahead of him was a large expanse of water surrounded by trees. He was not a water lover himself, although of course he could swim. He slid into the lake, almost invisible now he was near to his goal. Instinct suggested he make himself unobtrusive.

  He was seen however by another wanderer who wished to remain unnoticed.

  Charlie Rattle had found himself a cosy nest in the trees and bushes where even the Rangers had not found him. He knew he could not stay for too long, food and drink were the problem, his supplies were limited. But for the moment, he was content to lie there, dry and warm. He had dreams about escaping to France or further afield still. He couldn’t speak French but everyone spoke English, didn’t they?

  He did not think about what had happened to his mother in her own home, it was her own fault. Hardly anything to do with him at all. Uppermost in his mind, he felt cheerful and confident, but underneath he was frightened, very frightened.

  From his hiding place, Charlie could see a couple sitting on the bank by the water, their backs towards him. He rested on his elbows, watching with interest.

  What they were up to, if anything, he did not know. He was not an expert on sex. His own interest in it came and went. He did have a girlfriend who had promised to join him in France when he got there if he told her where to go and sent some money for a ticket. He couldn’t see Marilyn in France somehow, so he didn’t believe she would come, and certainly he would not be sending any money because he knew what she was like with money.

  The dog was watching the scene too. He was behind Charlie, who did not know he was there. His interest was different: he knew one of the protagonists. In his wandering life he was a great picker-up of people whom he called friends. Sometimes they did not know they were friends and sometimes they became his enemies without knowing that either.

  The dog watched as the couple by the waters stopped their conversation. He thought he heard the word ‘ No’. This prohibition was one he was familiar with. It didn’t always stop him but he knew what the order was: a no was a no. And if you ignored it, a whack on the rump was likely to follow. Or the nose. His nose twitched in memory.

  He heard ‘No’, again. Not very loud, but he had big furry ears which heard splendidly.

  He took a prudent step or two backwards. He knew a quarrel when he heard one.

  Charlie who was watching also heard the protestation. The word had a special significance to him too. He wants sex and she’s saying no, was his interpretation. It was a situation that he had met himself. He never pushed things, he didn’t hold with violence to women. Not unless it was your mother, which you really could not be blamed for.

  Then he saw the man raise his hand and deliver a chopping blow to the back of the woman’s neck. She sagged against the man who gathered her up in his arms.

  ‘Well, bugger me,’ said Charlie to himself. He kept his eyes on the couple. Well, a look-see was on offer.

  Then the man rolled the woman into the water, and sat there, watching.

  Charlie frowned, wondering what to do.

  The dog was watching too, He heard the splash of water. Saw a silver flash.

  Sensibly, he turned and trotted off.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emily Agent rang Charmian at home with the news that Joan was lost while Charmian was considering whether to have an evening glass of wine, or get on with cooking the dinner first.

  It was her turn to cook. If you could call it cooking. She contemplated the number of expensive, prepared meals in her freezer, then picked one out. Salad with it.

  The dog watched her with interest, wondering what was coming his way.

  ‘You look tired,’ said Charmian kindly, as he sank back at full length while gently and slowly moving his tail. You could hardly call it a wag, more of a flop. It had been a long day for him.

  ‘Oh, he’s back, is he?’ demanded Humphrey, entering the kitchen, with a bottle of wine and two glasses, ‘been gone all day, the hound.’ He added, ‘Answer the phone, my hands are full.’

  ‘Just his nature, he’s a wanderer,’ said Charmian, absently, as she reached out a hand for the telephone.

  Emily handed over the news quickly and bleakly and then waited for the blast of anger that would greet her. Charmian did not disappoint her. When she was finished, Emily went on, ‘We were at a lecture together and Joan left without my seeing.’

  There was a bit of a defence: there had been slides, the room had been darkened, Joan had whispered that she would see better up in fr
ont, and had slid away through a door at the bottom of the room which Emily had not known about. Emily had shot out to find her and failed, gaining instead Inspector Parker’s fury and Charmian’s ice-cold anger.

  ‘I’ve been out looking. Her sister thought she might have gone shopping. Apparently it’s a sort of passion now she is able to get to the shops. She took plenty of money with her.’ Emily explained to Charmian over the phone.

  ‘You mean it was planned?’

  ‘Yes, looks like it … I went in all the main stores, took another WPC with me. We went in all the washrooms. Inspector Parker alerted the uniformed branch, so they are looking for her, too. I must say, ma’am, that I thought she would turn up herself. Or that we would find her.’

  ‘She could have gone to London.’

  ‘We checked the trains, also the buses, and even taxis. Nothing. I think she is still in Windsor.’

  The dog sank into a peaceful sleep, he knew a few answers to what was worrying them but passing them on was not what a dog did. He had smelt death in the Great Park and sensibly come home. To this home, anyway. It suited him at the moment, warmth, good food and no little children pestering him. People thought that dogs loved children: they did not, they put up with them. Dogs being natural actors and imitators could put up a good front.

  ‘Right. I am going to call on Lou, you’d better meet me there.’

  Humphrey watched her going, murmuring that he would be cooking the meal while she was out.

  ‘Don’t wait for me, eat when it’s ready.’ She kissed his cheek and grabbed her bag.

  ‘Take the dog,’ he yelled after her.

  ‘No,’ she called back.

  Emily stepped out of her car as Charmian drove up to Lou’s flat. ‘She knows we’re coming.’

  Lou’s flat smelt more stuffy than it had earlier as if no window had been opened nor anything cleaned for some time. She had known suspects smell like that under questioning. A concentration of worry, Charmian thought as she saw Lou.

  Lou was edgy. ‘Joan didn’t say anything to me, just mentioned the lecture she was looking forward to and took her notes and then went off with Emily.’

  ‘What about her son?’