In silence, Clive led them to the front door. Their last sight of him was his stiff figure in the doorway being suddenly swallowed up by a wave of laughing, glass-waving partygoers.
CHAPTER 13
They sat in the car outside the Tenbys’ house for several minutes, reviewing the last few hours. Webb’s sense of urgency was deepening. After this second murder, there must, surely, be a collective danger for the entire family; it was inconceivable that two members of it could be singled out within the space of three days for entirely separate reasons. It was also depressingly obvious that the strong police presence had not proved a deterrent. No wonder the family was frightened and resentful.
Eventually he straightened and looked at his watch. ‘Well, this isn’t getting us anywhere; better to come to it fresh tomorrow. It’s been quite a day—press conference, Will-reading, murder—and those are just the highspots.
‘One more job, though, before you knock off. Look in at the Old Rectory and check with Sally if the girl’s come round and said anything. Then split the adults between you and Inspector Petrie, and see what they know about this divorce case. If by any chance TG was involved, it could be of interest. After that, all three of you are free to go home. Two of our blokes will be in the house overnight and another two in the grounds, and the same goes for Dormers. No saying who might be next on the list.’
Jackson nodded. ‘Shall I leave you the car, Guv?’
‘Yes; I’ve a couple of things to check, then I’ll call it a day myself. Hang on—’ He reached into the back of the car and retrieved a couple of the notebooks he’d not had time to look at. ‘Here’s some bedtime reading for you.’
As Jackson got out of the car, the strains of music from the party reached them again. Webb wondered if Clive had been able to push what he’d learned to the back of his mind. Judging by his initial response, he doubted it. He watched Jackson’s slight figure set off up the hill. Then, decision crystallising, he drove down to the main road and turned right in the direction of Dormers. The Howard Walkers should be home by now.
***
Ashley stood at the long window on the half-landing, staring down the driveway. She was not sure why she was there; she’d taken some aspirin and hot milk to Howard, who’d been stricken with a severe migraine, and on her way downstairs had glanced out of the window, paused, and then remained there, suddenly unwilling to continue to the ground floor. It was in any case deserted, except for the two polite strangers who’d settled in the study for the night.
Gavin was at a pop concert, to which he’d been looking forward for weeks. There’d been no point in suggesting he should cancel it; Robin wouldn’t be helped by his staying miserably at home. Robin wouldn’t be helped by anything, ever again.
Her throat closed over a dry sob, remembering him as he’d been only that afternoon, with his arm carelessly along the back of the sofa behind Eleanor, his face mirroring the shock they’d all felt. Remembering, too, his tenderness when they’d made love.
Her eyes, still fixed unseeingly on the drive, flickered into focus as a car turned in at the gate. Immediately, a figure materialised from behind a bush and bent its head to speak to the driver. Then it stepped back and the car came on towards the house. A sanctioned visitor, then. She stood unmoving as Webb got out of the car and, drawn perhaps by the force of her gaze, glanced up at the window in the low turret where she stood. For a moment they stared at each other. Then he came on towards the house and she walked down the remaining stairs, gathering together the shreds of her self-control.
One of the policemen reached the door before her, and admitted Webb. Perhaps his colleague outside had radioed news of his arrival. After a murmured consultation, he returned to the study and closed the door.
Ashley said, ‘My husband’s in bed, and can’t be disturbed. Not surprisingly, he has a bad headache.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For that matter, I’m in no state to be interviewed, either. I thought we’d finished with all that at the Old Rectory.’
‘Unfortunately some more questions have come up.’
She turned on her heel and led the way to the sitting-room. The evening had clouded over and it was dim in the long, low room, but she made no move to switch on the light. Nor did she invite him to sit, and they stood facing each other like boxers in a ring. Her scent hung faintly in the air, disturbingly seductive. Webb cleared his throat.
‘Are you aware that Robin Walker kept a diary?’
A tremor went through her, but she answered contemptuously, ‘And you’ve been smacking your lips over it, no doubt?’
‘Mrs Walker, please understand I’m only—’
‘Only what?’ she broke in furiously. ‘Doing your duty? Spare me that!’
‘It happens to be true.’
‘Rubbish! You’re enjoying seeing us get our come-uppance—isn’t that how you regard it? The high and mighty Walkers brought low? How dare you set yourself up like a little tin god to poke into our affairs! Go away, and leave us to mourn our dead.’
Webb said doggedly, ‘Did your husband know of your relationship with his brother?’
She stepped forward swiftly, hand raised, and he caught and held her wrist. ‘Because if he did,’ Webb continued, as she stood glaring at him, ‘it might constitute a motive for murder.’
He felt her go limp and tightened his grip to support her. ‘Mrs Walker,’ he said more gently, ‘whatever you may think, I’m not enjoying this any more than you are.’
‘You make it sound so sordid,’ she answered in a low voice. ‘It wasn’t—and it only happened once.’
‘I know.’
Her head reared. ‘God, you’re insufferable! Is there anything you don’t know? But whatever views you might have of me, I don’t sleep around. That one occasion with Robin, which I’ve bitterly regretted, was the only time in—’ She broke off. ‘Why am I telling you this? It’s none of your damn business.’
‘Did your husband find out?’ Webb repeated, releasing her wrist.
‘No, I’m sure he didn’t. I’d have known. Look, this is ludicrous. You’re not casting Howard in the role of murderer?’
‘Who would you suggest?’
She stared at him and gave a little shiver. ‘I’ve tried to avoid thinking it could be someone we know.’
‘The second murder makes it increasingly likely. Is there anyone, apart from Ridley, who feels wronged by the family?’
‘Connected with the firm, you mean?’
‘Quite possibly. I’m going back on Monday, to make inquiries. It could be a business rather than a personal vendetta.’ Though for all he knew, ‘TG’ might be employed there. It would explain the long-lasting relationship.
‘Are you expecting another attack?’ Ashley asked fearfully.
‘We’re taking no chances.’ He hesitated, wondering how best to phrase his next question.
‘I have the impression Mrs Darby’s not too popular?’ His tact was wasted. ‘You mean did I resent her being Robin’s fiancée?’
‘That’s part of it, but I hear your mother-in-law didn’t welcome her either.’
‘She was too independent for Mother’s liking.’
‘And for yours?’
‘I’ve nothing against her.’ Even in these circumstances, she was unwilling to discuss the family. And yet, standing close to her in the gathering dusk, he sensed a softening of her antagonism, perhaps a more personal awareness. Which could be dangerous.
She said quietly, ‘If you’ve finished interrogating me, shall we be civilised and have a drink?’
How to refuse without offending her? For refuse he must; every instinct demanded it. He was literally saved by the bell—the telephone, which shrilled suddenly across the room. The couple of minutes during which she spoke into it gave him time to collect himself, and as she put it down, he said smoothly, ‘Thank you, but I must be on my way.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said.
She saw him to the door an
d held it open as he walked briskly to the car. Then it closed, and the light illuminating the gravel was extinguished. With a sigh he didn’t entirely understand, he switched on the ignition.
***
Hannah said, ‘Robin? But he can’t be! I saw him this morning!’
‘Unfortunately, my love, that’s no guarantee of immortality.’ Webb poured whisky into two glasses, diluted hers with dry ginger.
‘But David, that’s horrible!’ She was still gazing at him in distress. ‘Every time I go to that house, someone is killed.’
‘Then please don’t go again,’ he said grimly, handing her the glass. ‘Think back to the coffee morning. Or the fete, for that matter. Do you recall anyone being spoken of who had the initials TG?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Hannah said after a moment. ‘Why?’
‘Because Robin kept a record of his amorous exploits, and those initials figured over a long period.’
‘And you think a jealous husband came after him? But what about his mother?’
Webb settled himself in a deep armchair and stared reflectively into his drink. ‘TG was something special. Not only did she outlast all the others, he referred to her as the deepest and darkest secret of his soul.’
‘Good Lord!’
‘It’s possible that, in the end, she was the cause of his death. But, as you so rightly say, what about his mother?’
Hannah said slowly, ‘If Eleanor Darby’d found out—?’
‘We wondered about that, but to be honest, I doubt if she’d have cared sufficiently. However, she and Robin did have words after the Will-reading. She went after him to apologise but he was talking to Fay, so she left it.’
‘And that was the last time she saw him?’
‘So she says. It was Fay who found him. She knew where to look, but it seems he often went to chop wood when he’d problems to sort out.’
‘How’s Fay now?’
‘Under sedation. She was having screaming hysterics when I saw her.’
Hannah said gravely, ‘It’s enough to tip her over the edge. She’s been more and more withdrawn—well, I told you about the doll. Heavens, was that only this morning?’
‘You know her better than I do; is it conceivable she could have killed Robin herself? She was, after all, the last person seen with him.’
‘Would she have had the strength?’
‘Manic fury? If he was taken by surprise—’ He slapped the arm of his chair with frustration. ‘If I was at home, I’d have the easel up by now. The killer has to be one of a closed circle of people. What are we missing?’
‘I haven’t an easel, but I can supply pen and paper, if that’s any help?’
Webb looked at her. ‘Would you mind? It could take hours, but once I see them in black and white, I frequently notice something I’ve only registered subconsciously. If I can pinpoint it now, we might prevent another murder.’
‘You can use the corner table. I’ll move the lamp over.’ Hannah lifted the vase of sweet-smelling stocks and put it on the mantelshelf. Webb followed her across and slid into the bench seat. As soon as she put the paper in front of him, he began to sketch the rapid, startlingly lifelike cartoons of which Michael Romilly of the Broadshire News could never get enough. Hannah, who’d not seen him in action before, watched, marvelling, over his shoulder. The first quick strokes were enough for her to recognise the Walker family and their friends, the perceptive line given to mouth or eyes indicating an acuteness of observation which married the training of both artist and detective.
Within minutes the sheet was peopled with familiar faces: Fay, dreamily cradling her doll; Melanie, sowing the seeds of ‘Murder’, Gavin, Neville, Ashley—lovely even in caricature, Howard, hesitant and bespectacled, Dick Ridley, the Tenbys, Eleanor. Enthralled, Hannah slid on to the bench beside him, content to sit in silence and watch.
Time ticked by. The incisiveness of the first strokes slowed to doodle as Webb filled in background, added props. Arthur, curious to know what absorbed them, leapt lightly on to the table and settled down to watch.
The first sheet of paper was pushed aside and Webb embarked on another. Specific scenes this time, map-like in their accuracy: the drawing-room with the open window, the body sketchily in place; the terrace, by which the murderer might have gained entrance; the woodshed which, mercifully she herself had not seen.
Then, on another sheet, characters and places came together, each where he or she had claimed to be at the time of first one murder, then the other. She appeared herself here, lying by the pool, and it was uncanny to realise that for the moment this was how David saw her, cartoon character rather than real woman. Neville was shown with a suitcase, indicating his business trip, Lydia at her French class, Dick Ridley collapsed at the bottom of the hill.
After a while Hannah made coffee, silently placing a mug beside Webb. He grunted acknowledgement, reached for it and drank, but his eyes never left the paper.
There followed a long, silent time in which no more drawing took place. Webb stared broodingly at first one sheet, then another, comparing and contrasting the known facts with impressions his subconscious had interpreted.
Hannah retired to a more comfortable position on the sofa. Pirate returned from his nightly prowl, leaping on to a chair to join Oswald and jostling for dominant position. Arthur remained unmoving on the table, squinting sleepily.
It was after one o’clock, and Hannah’s head was drooping over her book, when Webb suddenly sighed and stretched himself.
‘That’ll do,’ he said. Then, ‘Good lord, is that the time? Love, I’m sorry! You should have told me!’
‘I wouldn’t have interrupted for the world.’
‘I doubt if they have a night porter at the Horse and Groom.’
She smiled sleepily. ‘Surely everyone knows a conscientious detective works throughout the night?’
He grinned. ‘At one thing or another. May I stay?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ She stood as he came across and moved into his arms, resting against him. ‘Was the marathon worthwhile? Anything new strike you?’
‘One or two question-marks which will have to be clarified.’
‘But you haven’t unmasked the killer?’
‘Let’s just say I have an idea.’
She leant back, looking curiously up into his face. ‘Who? Do tell me.’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I might be on the wrong track, but it’s been a worthwhile exercise—it almost always is. Thanks for putting up with it.’
Jackson was already at the church hall when Webb arrived the next morning.
‘Well, Ken, how were things at the Old Rectory last night?’
‘I think negative’s the word, Guy. Fay’d come round but not said anything important. No one admitted knowing TG, and I think we can discount the divorce. It was five years ago, and both parties are happily remarried.’
‘Did you come across anything more in the diaries?’ Jackson grinned. ‘They make good reading, don’t they? Reckon it’s true, or was he romanticising?’
Webb thought briefly of Ashley. ‘I’d say it’s true, all right.’
‘Well, there was nothing to help us in the one I went through. I passed the other to Sally—she might be luckier. We’ve had a break this morning, though: the SOCOs have found a gardening apron and gloves, pushed into the compost heap. They’re splashed with what looks like blood.’
‘So that’s why a change of clothes wasn’t necessary. Let’s get over there.’
They walked together across the road. The day was overcast and the atmosphere clammy. Webb ran a finger round the collar of his shirt, looking up at the sky. ‘Hope it doesn’t rain till they’ve got all they can out of the scene.’
Access to the right-hand end of the garden was still under guard. The constable touched his helmet to Webb.
‘Inspector Hodges is expecting you, sir. He—’
But Dick Hodges was already emerging from the trees. ‘Ah, Dave. You
’ve heard our news?’
‘Yes, well done.’
‘He must have stashed them immediately after. He’d time on his side; no one was likely to come down here, and it’s fully screened from the house. Makes it pretty cold-blooded, though. Assuming that his victim was chopping logs, he’d have had to pass him to get to the shed for the gloves and apron. The family say they were kept there, and if you remember, the door was open.’
‘But they must have exchanged words. Robin couldn’t have failed to see him. Or her.’
‘A row, you mean?’
‘I doubt if they discussed the weather.’
‘OK, then, how about this: they had a row, Robin turned dismissively back to his logs, and Chummie nipped into the shed for the gloves. Then, as Robin turned to see what he was doing, he knocked him to the ground, the axe fell out of Robin’s hand and Chummie picked it up and gave him the chop. Quite literally.’
‘Succinctly put. And since he gowned himself like a surgeon, there was a degree of premeditation. But how much? Did he intend to kill Robin when he went down there, or only after their conversation?’
‘Search me. Any idea who it could have been?’
‘Any bloody one of them,’ Webb said disgustedly. ‘They were spread about all over the place.’ He paused. ‘Could a girl have done it, Dick?’
Hodges gave him a surprised glance. ‘If she was self-possessed enough to fit the scenario.’
Which surely ruled out Fay? Melanie, then? She’d accused her grandmother of murder, but what had either of them against Robin? On the other hand, Fay had been talking to him just before his death. What about? It seemed imperative to find out.
‘Any chance of prints from the inside of the gloves?’ he asked Hodges.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll do our best.’
Webb nodded. ‘I’ll be at the house if you want me.’
Lydia said doubtfully, ‘Do you really have to question her? I don’t want a relapse.’
‘We’ll go gently, Mrs Walker, but she’ll still be cushioned to some extent by the sedative.’
‘Will it be all right if I stay?’
‘Of course, as long as you let her answer for herself. Where is she?’
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