‘In the conservatory. I’ll send for some coffee—it will make it seem less formal.’
As they were crossing the hall, Sally Pierce approached him. ‘Could I have a quick word, sir? It might be important.’
Webb gestured Jackson to go ahead with Lydia. ‘Yes, Sally?’
‘Sergeant Jackson gave me this notebook to read, and I’ve been flicking through it. I found something I think you should see.’
Webb took the book from her, angling it in the dim hall to get the maximum light. ‘3rd November,’ he read. ‘I was dreaming of The Girl again last night. God, if only I could stop!’
He looked up, frowning. Sally was watching him eagerly. ‘I am right, aren’t I, sir? It looks as though TG didn’t stand for anyone’s initials, but just for “The Girl”.’
Webb whistled softly. ‘He couldn’t even bring himself to use her initial. “If my soul’s damned, it will be because of her.” Fay?’
Sally’s green eyes widened. ‘I hadn’t got that far. Could it be? Could he have been the father of her child?’
‘That, as they say, is the question. Where’s Inspector Petrie?’
‘Here, sir.’
‘I’d like you with us—you might be needed. Thanks, Sally, that was very well spotted.’
He walked briskly through the dining-room and into the warm brightness of the conservatory. Even on this grey day, stored sunshine warmed the atmosphere. His mind was churning with half-grasped truths, recoiling from, though at the same time accepting, what now seemed to be the case. As for the questions he must ask, he dreaded Lydia’s reaction as much as Fay’s.
Fay herself was hunched on one of the chintz-cushioned chairs. She looked pale and red-eyed, but calm enough.
If she’d been through what he now suspected, how could she be other than what she was?
‘Are you feeling better?’ he began gently. She nodded. ‘Fay, what were you talking to Robin about on the terrace yesterday?’
‘I asked why he’d let them take the baby.’
Lydia made a sudden movement which Webb quelled with a gesture. The drug Pringle had given Fay seemed to have lowered her inhibitions, and she was speaking more freely than usual. Webb was duly grateful.
‘Did you want to keep it?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell your parents?’
‘I thought Robin would stop them. Right up to the end, when I went into hospital, I was sure he’d come and save us.’
Lydia, frowning and perplexed, still did not understand. ‘But why should he, darling?’
Fay met her mother’s eyes with a limpid gaze. ‘Because,’ she said simply, ‘it was his baby too.’
Lydia gasped, half rising to her feet, then sinking back, her horrified eyes on her daughter’s calm face. ‘Fay, that’s a wicked thing to say! You know quite well that Clive—’
‘Please, Mrs Walker,’ Webb interrupted. ‘I realise this is distressing for you, but we must get at the truth. Now, Fay: Robin did know about the baby?’
‘Yes, I told him.’
‘And what did he say?’
For the first time, the girl showed signs of distress. ‘That he’d think of something. Then he went to London and stayed away three weeks. And while he was there, Melanie found out about the baby, and then everyone knew. I thought he’d come back and explain, but all he did was ring to tell Granny he was going to marry Eleanor.’
Lydia whispered, ‘I can’t believe this—it’s sick.’
Webb could only agree. Holding down his own anger and disgust, he said gently, ‘Did he ever frighten you?’ God, there were experts to deal with this kind of thing. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to wait for them. Murder was involved, and could be again.
‘I was frightened at first and I didn’t like what he did, but he was always kind.’
‘Always?’ Lydia said in a strangled voice. ‘You mean it wasn’t just once? When did this start, for God’s sake?’
‘My first term at Ashbourne,’ Fay said promptly. ‘I was home with a cold, and you asked him to keep an eye on me.’
‘You were seven years old!’
‘Yes. He explained it was a very special kind of loving, but it must be kept secret, because people wouldn’t understand and would be jealous.’
Lydia said softly, ‘My poor baby! Oh, my poor little girl!’ She turned agitatedly to Webb. ‘When she was a baby, she was always trotting after Robin. I used to think he was very patient with her. God, if I’d known what was in store, I’d have strangled him with my bare hands.’
Footsteps were approaching from the dining-room behind them, and the maid Phyllis, with an anxious look at their set faces, put the coffee tray down on the table. Lydia seemed not to notice her, so Webb murmured his thanks and she withdrew.
Nina poured the coffee and handed round the cups. Everyone took one automatically.
Lydia was lost in her private hell. ‘After we came here, Robin often used to work at home. If one of the children was off school for some reason and I had to go out, I’d ask him to look after her. Melanie never minded, but Fay used to cry. I thought she was just being spoilt, and made her stay with him. Oh my God!’ She turned her wild face to Webb. ‘Was it my fault? Did I make it happen?’
‘You mustn’t think that,’ he answered quietly. ‘And anyway it’s over now. She’ll be given expert help, but she’ll need all the support you can give her.’
‘I’m glad he’s dead!’ Lydia said in a low, vicious voice. ‘Glad, glad, glad!’
Webb glanced at the girl, but she seemed not to be listening, lost in her own dreams. He raised his voice slightly. ‘Fay, had you asked Robin before why he didn’t help you?’
She shook her head. ‘The baby was dead—there was no point.’
‘Then why bring it up yesterday?’
Fay sipped her coffee. ‘Because we’d all been talking about babies—Granny not able to have any, and everything. Then I heard him shouting at Eleanor, and when he came round the corner on to the terrace, it seemed a good opportunity.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘At first he stared at me as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. Then he said, “At least it wasn’t incest after all. I suppose that’s something.”’
Lydia began to weep softly into her handkerchief. Webb wondered dully how many more tears this family would shed.
‘And that was all?’
‘Yes. He went down the steps and walked across the lawn towards the trees.’
Webb said carefully, ‘Did you go after him?’
Fay seemed unaware of the implications of the question. ‘There was no point,’ she said again.
‘So where did you go?’
‘To the dining-room. I just sat down and waited for everyone else.’
Webb glanced over his shoulder at the dim room behind him. If she’d looked through the conservatory windows, she’d have seen the trees behind which the murder was committed. ‘Did you notice anyone else go in that direction?’
But Fay shook her head. ‘I had my back to the window.’
Which, Webb told himself resignedly, was sod’s law. Then, as he thought over what he’d heard, something clicked into place and he realised that one of the question-marks he’d mentioned to Hannah had been explained. There seemed to be motive and opportunity for this last murder, and the means was bloodily to hand. So what about the first one?
CHAPTER 14
Webb assembled his staff who were still at the house—Nina Petrie, Jackson and Sally—in the library.
‘I’ve an idea,’ he told them, ‘and I need to be alone to think it through. .In the meantime, I want you to turn your attention back to the first murder and go over again exactly where everyone was at the time of death, which is now established as between three-thirty and three-fifty on Wednesday.
‘Ken, you drive out to Dormers and check on those three, particularly young Gavin, who admitted being here immediately after the murder. You t
wo women can divide this lot up. And there are some specific questions I want you to ask, if possible without giving them too much significance.’
They listened intently as he outlined them. ‘We’ll meet for a pub lunch at the Horse and Groom,’ he finished, ‘at twelve-thirty. I’ll book the parlour so we can talk freely.’
He got to his feet. ‘Before you take the car, Ken, I want some papers out of it. I’ll walk over with you.’
As they crossed the road, the church bells were ringing joyously from the restored tower, a familiar Sunday-morning sound far removed from bloody murder. Small groups of people were walking towards the church, being careful not to stare up the drive of the Old Rectory as they passed.
‘It would be Sunday,’ Webb commented. ‘I need to make some phone calls, but they’ll have to wait till morning.’ He extracted the drawings he’d made at Hannah’s from the back seat of the car. ‘OK, Ken; see you at twelve-thirty.’
Back on the pavement, he turned in the direction of the church. The paved road finished at its gate, but to the left a small track followed the line of the graveyard wall and, beyond it, continued up the hill. This Webb took, occasionally looking back as the ground rose to see the diminishing figures still walking up the church path. He was almost on a level with the tower now, but there was no one up there today. Incredible to remember it was only eight days since he’d leant over its parapet and seen flowery ‘Murder’ in the garden below—a portent, had he known it, of not one but two violent deaths.
The bells stopped abruptly, and in the sudden silence he heard the low murmurings of an English summer; the hum of a bee close at hand echoed by the distant buzz of a lawn-mower, a cricket chirping to his right, and, far away across the village, the barking of a dog.
He turned to look back over Honeyford. Not such a clear view, on this cloudy day, as from the tower in the sunshine, but he’d little suspected then how well he’d come to know this place. Now, he could pick out the various buildings and the thread of the main road leading to Dormers.
His thoughts turned again to Ashley. She and the others would need all their courage if what he suspected proved true. In one short week, an apparently close and happy family had dissolved into chaos, and there was more to come.
They’d seemed so secure within their charmed circle. Those on whom the gods smiled—the beautiful people—the Six Proud Walkers.
Yet Eleanor, the outsider, had seen beneath the facade. ‘Riddled with complexes’, she’d said.
The first visible crack had appeared with Fay’s pregnancy. According to Melanie, Dorothy Walker’s insistence on abortion was to protect the family name. Well, it was beyond protection now. Yet the rot had started much earlier, with Robin’s corruption of the infant Fay, violating her body, warping her mind, even while he loathed himself for it. The outward picture of a loving supportive unit had always been false, hiding as it did corrosion within.
Webb sighed and unfurled the sheets of paper he’d brought with him. In the light of new knowledge, he studied the drawings he’d made of people and places and nodded his satisfaction. It was certainly possible. And since the same hand must surely have struck twice, he must now feel his way through the alibis to expose their weaknesses.
***
By the time the church bells again rang out, he was sure he had the solution. The answers the others were obtaining should confirm it. There was no sense of triumph, though; too many people had been hurt, and would be again.
He got to his feet, brushed the grass from his trousers, and set off down the hill, again to the accompaniment of the bells. As he passed the church gate, people were gathered in small groups, talking in low voices. He’d no doubt what they were discussing.
The landlord of the Horse and Groom readily agreed to his request for privacy. ‘You’ll be undisturbed in here, Mr Webb,’ he assured him, holding open the parlour door. ‘Will you have something to drink now, or wait for your colleagues?’
‘I’ll have a pint to put me on, thanks.’
The room was small and bright, with quarry-tiled floor and a large brick fireplace. No doubt log fires burned in the winter; now, the dark mouth of the grate was screened by a brass jardiniere filled with hollyhocks.
Webb walked to the window. It was at the side of the building, and looked on to an enclosed yard where a small child, squatting on the ground, played with coloured bricks. For several minutes he watched her as she placed one on top of another, and, when the pile unfailingly collapsed, stoically began again. And he was witness to the small miracle of learning that led her at last to place the bricks more centrally, so that the edifice grew.
No lover of small children, Webb nevertheless felt a surge of protectiveness, hoping with a fervour that surprised him that she would be spared the mutilation of spirit that had withered Fay.
He smiled wryly and turned from the window. He always waxed philosophical at this stage in a case, and was relieved when the return of the landlord with a brimming tankard ended his musings.
‘Bad business, up at the Rectory,’ the man said, shaking his head. ‘Think you’re on to the culprit, sir?’
‘I hope so, Mr Layton.’
‘Well, that’s good news, I must say. Custom’s been falling off a bit; folks are nervous out after dark, with a killer on the loose.’
They’re quite safe, Webb thought privately, as long as their name isn’t Walker.
Voices in the passage outside made the man turn, and Nina and Sally appeared in the doorway. Over his shoulder, catching Webb’s silent query, Nina gave a brief nod. Webb let out the breath he’d been unaware of holding.
‘Right, landlord: drinks for the ladies, and perhaps you’d bring us a menu.’
As the door closed behind him, Webb said, ‘We’ll wait for Sergeant Jackson. He’ll want to hear all the details.’
Jackson arrived with the drinks, having added his own to the order. The menu was passed round and they chose quickly, each of them now anxious to embark on the discussion.
Webb looked round at their faces, solemn, apprehensive, curious. ‘You start, Inspector.’
‘I didn’t see Mr Walker,’ Nina began. ‘He was on duty at morning service and hadn’t come back by the time I left.’
‘On duty, the day after his brother’s death?’
‘His wife said he was glad of something to do. As you suggested, I asked her when the business trip was first mentioned, and she said earlier in the week. There’d been a complaint, and there was the chance of losing a big order if things weren’t smoothed over. At breakfast on Wednesday, though the visit hadn’t been finalised, he was expecting to go. He’d asked her to pack his overnight case, and he was wearing what she called his “tycoon suit”— the one he always chose when he wanted to impress people.’
Webb leant forward. ‘Go on.’
‘I asked her to describe it. She seemed surprised, but said it was dark grey, with a thin red line in the cloth.’
‘He wasn’t wearing it when he returned to the factory,’ Webb said positively. ‘That suit was also grey, but plain flannel. I noticed it particularly, because I’ve a similar one myself.’
Jackson whistled softly. After a moment, Nina continued: ‘I also asked, as you suggested, if he took an extra suit with him on business trips. She said no, just a clean shirt and underclothes.’
‘And you checked upstairs?’
‘As soon as I had the description, I sent a note out to Sally as we’d arranged.’
Webb turned to the WDC, who took up the story. ‘I was interviewing Melanie, sir, but when I got the note, I made an excuse and ran up to the bedroom. That suit’s definitely not in his wardrobe.’
‘Did the others confirm he was wearing it on Wednesday?’
‘Yes, both the girls referred to it as “Daddy’s tycoon suit”. I asked if they’d seen it since, and they said no, he only wore it if he had a meeting.’
‘So far, so good.’
A tap on the door heralded a short-skirted wait
ress bearing a tray with their lunches. The orders were sorted out and, with a curious glance at them, she went out again, leaving the door ajar. Sally walked across and closed it.
‘Did you check back, Ken, what time he got to Stratford?’
‘Yes, we slipped up there, Guy. He didn’t arrive till after five.’
Webb swore softly. ‘As simple as that! It was the lunchtime phone-call that threw me; I assumed he’d left straight afterwards. Damn it, it was a business appointment he was going to. But the routine check was made, and we’ve had that crucial piece of information all along. Why the devil did no one mention it?’
They avoided each other’s eyes.
‘All right,’ he said, with a touch of humour, ‘you can say it! “Because I never asked.” My fault—I should have done. But what the hell was he doing, arriving for a business meeting as late as that?’
Jackson said, ‘I reckon it was more of a PR exercise. He had them to dinner at his hotel.’
‘So we come to the next big question. What time did he leave the factory?’
‘Soon after three. I’ve just been to the Incident Room to check Bob’s notes.’
‘And as we know ourselves, it takes some thirty-five minutes to drive from Ashmartin to Honeyford. Which,’ Webb continued deliberately, ‘if that’s what he did, would get him to the Old Rectory within minutes of his mother returning home.’
‘And she blurted out the news of her illness and his adoption, and he lost his marbles?’
‘That’s my guess, provided we’re on the right track—and I’m damn sure we are. He was always hot on family tradition —it would have knocked him sideways.’
For a minute or two they ate in silence, their minds busy with this latest information. Then Sally asked curiously, ‘What put you on to him, sir?’
‘Remember I said that with the second murder, the killer’d doubled his chances of being caught? I worked it back from Robin’s death. You’ve not had your say yet, Sally, but I presume you asked Fay exactly where she and Robin were standing when they spoke about the baby?’
‘Yes—near the open drawing-room windows.’
Six Proud Walkers Page 16
