by Angela Arney
‘If Mrs Brockett-Smythe had told us that straight away it could have been proved it was self-defence. No jury would have convicted her of murder on that. It would have been manslaughter,’ Grayson mused out loud. ‘But,’ he continued, ‘the fact that there’s no forensic evidence, no knife, no bloodstained clothes must mean that the major was involved as well.’ Grayson turned to Maguire. ‘Surely you don’t think she could have covered up everything by herself?’
The priest was saying the final words at the graveside and the three coffins were being lowered simultaneously by the pall-bearers into the waiting graves. Maguire and Grayson stopped talking and waited in silence. The major stepped forward and dropped a sod of earth into the graves of Melinda and Darren, and Mrs Girling did the same for Tarquin. A few more words from the priest and the short service was over. The small company turned and walked back to the waiting cars, leaving the cemetery to the two grave diggers, who’d been leaning on their shovels at the far end of the sea wall having a quiet cigarette.
‘Yes, the major must have been involved as well,’ said Maguire, picking up the conversation where they had left off. ‘Not in the killing, but he must have come back and tidied things up before coming back yet again, when he was told his daughter had been murdered, and feigned convincing shock horror. But that was the problem. It wasn’t quite convincing enough for me. There was no doubt that he was horrified. But that sharp, initial burst of grief and shock I was expecting wasn’t there. And it wasn’t there because he was prepared. He already knew what had happened to Melinda. As for the clean-up, there are plenty of places to hide things in that rambling garden of his. For instance there’s a deep well that hasn’t been used for years. He probably threw the knife down there; we’d no doubt find it if we cared to look, but there’s no point now. And then there’s that bonfire he had; I assume any bloodstained clothing went on that.’
‘Forensics wouldn’t have any difficulty in proving clothing had been burned. We ought to do something about it. Find the knife and the clothing. They ought to be punished.’ Maguire thought Grayson sounded a little pompous and smug. It irritated him, but then he told himself Grayson was young, and the young were inclined to see things in black and white instead of shades of grey, which was the way life really was.
‘They are being punished,’ he said quietly. ‘They’ll have it on their consciences for the rest of their lives. And you’re right. Forensics would have proved it if we’d had more time. But events overtook us, and now we’ve got a confession from a confirmed murderer. Do you think the super or the CPS are going to be very happy if we start throwing alternative scenarios down in front of them? It’s difficult enough to get them to proceed with a prosecution of any kind, and now we’ve presented them with an open and shut case they will want it left that way. And as the murderer in question is at death’s door himself, there will be no expensive trial. Everything is cut and dried, and most importantly in these days of tight budgetary control, it will be cheap.’
‘But surely, if Lessing lives long enough, he’ll be brought to trial.’
‘Yes,’ said Maguire. ‘He will, if he lives long enough. But that, according to the medics, is very unlikely. So the powers that be will want us to leave it for a while, then when he dies, the case will be quietly closed. The files put away and forgotten. A case solved. The accountants and the statisticians will be pleased.’
They started to walk down the incline towards the police car standing by the gate which led into the cemetery, their footsteps crunching on the grass still brittle with the hoar frost. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Grayson. Then he suddenly changed tack. ‘Well, as I said before, thank heavens we’ve got it all out of the way before the holidays. At least now we can relax and have a good Christmas, always supposing everything goes back to normal and stays quiet. Ann is pleased. She was beginning to think I’d be staying down at the station all over the festive period.’
Maguire smiled. ‘And this conversation will remain strictly private, I hope,’ he said. ‘Just between the two of us. It doesn’t do for policemen to have views that don’t follow the official line.’
‘Strictly private,’ said Grayson, still looking a little doubtful. Then he relaxed and grinned. ‘I’m looking forward to a bit of a rest. Let’s hope the citizens of Stibbington behave themselves for a few weeks. By the way, Ann said if you’d like to join us for Christmas Day you’re very welcome. It will be just us, and her mum and dad.’
‘Thanks, Steve, but I’ve already accepted another invitation,’ lied Maguire. He didn’t relish a family Christmas with Steve’s mum and dad. ‘It’s very kind of Ann, thank her for me.’
‘Will do.’ Grayson made no further inquiries. ‘Shall I get Tess from the car for you? Looks like Dr Browne and her daughter are waiting for us.’ Maguire fished the car keys from his pocket and handed them over.
‘Let’s wait for them. I want to know what’s going to happen to Giles Lessing.’ Louise tugged at her mother’s arm. They stood and watched the major and his wife climb into their Land Rover and Niall slide into his BMW. He turned back, looked at them for a moment, then gave a faint wave before driving off. Maguire and Steve Grayson caught up with them.
‘How are you?’ asked Maguire. ‘I came to see you in hospital with the mandatory bunch of grapes and a bouquet of flowers, but you’d skedaddled and gone back home.’
Lizzie smiled at Maguire, and felt absurdly pleased that he had been to the hospital. ‘I suppose you’ve eaten the grapes,’ she said.
‘Of course. Couldn’t let them go to waste.’
‘I wanted her to stay in longer,’ said Louise.
‘There was no need,’ said Lizzie firmly. ‘Hospitals are dangerous places; one can pick up all sorts of nasty things there. I should know, I’m a doctor. Besides, the bullet only grazed my head. I collapsed with concussion, nothing more dramatic than that, plus a little blood loss, of course.’
‘As far as I could see there was an awful lot of blood,’ said Maguire. ‘Maybe you ought to do as you’re told for a few days.’
‘Nonsense,’ snapped Lizzie. ‘I’m quite capable of doctoring myself.’ Then realizing that sounded a little ungracious she added in a more mellow tone of voice, ‘I’m glad we met you today, because I haven’t had a chance to thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For saving my life. If you and your men hadn’t got there when you did, God knows what might have happened.’
‘Never mind about God knowing. I know,’ said Louise. ‘You would have been shot dead, and probably Niall as well. Not to mention a dozen or so other people.’ She threw her arms up in a melodramatic gesture.
‘Only another five,’ said Grayson. ‘There are only six bullets in a barrel.’
‘Are you always this pedantic?’ said Louise, cross that her moment of drama had been squashed. Maguire and Lizzie laughed and Steve looked grumpy.
‘I don’t even know what pedantic means,’ he said huffily.
Lizzie took pity on him. ‘Don’t take any notice of Louise being difficult,’ she said. ‘She’s glad you were there too.’
‘But I wasn’t there,’ said Steve gloomily. ‘I missed all the excitement because I was sent down to The House on the Hard to a murder that turned out to be natural causes. I didn’t get to be involved in any of the excitement.’ He started off towards Maguire’s car. ‘I’ll collect Tess.’
Lizzie turned and looked at Maguire. ‘What did he mean? I saw the murdered woman with my own eyes. What do you mean natural causes?’
‘It’s true. I thought you knew. The post-mortem revealed that she had died of a heart attack. Or a coronary occlusion, to use Phineas’s words. Apparently, she had a congenital abnormality of the heart. The stress of everything just proved too much for her. So to all intents and purposes Lessing did murder her.’
‘Oh my God. Poor woman!’ Lizzie felt a stab of guilt; she and all the other partners at Honeywell Practice had regarded Emmy as a nuisance with her ima
gined illnesses. Now she wished she’d given her more of her time, and she wished she’d hurried more that night Emmy had called. ‘If I’d got to her sooner,’ she said slowly, ‘Maybe I could have prevented her death.’
‘Perhaps,’ Maguire said. ‘But it’s all history now, and we can’t change it.’
Lizzie didn’t feel convinced. ‘It’s illogical, I know, but somehow I feel responsible for Emmy’s death.’ She was sure there’d been no mention of heart disease in her notes, she would have remembered it. The answer was that they had all missed something because the woman was a nuisance. She always turned up with such trivial complaints that the main concern of everyone in the surgery was to get rid of her as soon as possible. ‘I’ve got to go to her funeral tomorrow,’ she said miserably. ‘Not that it will do Emmy much good.’
‘Stop thinking about it,’ Maguire said again. ‘Phineas said she could have dropped dead at any time, and it’s a wonder she hadn’t done so before.’
Lizzie felt perilously close to tears. Must be the reaction to that damned blow to the head, she told herself crossly.
‘So stop thinking about it. And that’s an order,’ Maguire added.
‘My mother is not very good at following orders, only at giving them,’ said Louise.
‘I had noticed.’ Maguire gave a wry grimace.
‘But she’s going to do as she’s told this Christmas, because I’m staying to look after her,’ Louise said firmly.
Lizzie turned and saw Grayson leading Tess towards them. She was pulling on her lead, and bobbed down to pee on a grave. She laughed. It lightened the moment. ‘That dog hasn’t got any churchyard manners.’
‘True,’ agreed Maguire. ‘But I don’t think the occupants of this place will object too much.’ He took Tess’s lead from Grayson. ‘Take care. And let that daughter of yours look after you for a few days.’ He raised his hand in a gesture of farewell before he and Grayson made their way back to the car the long way round so that Tess could have a bit of a walk.
The day after the funeral Louise and Lizzie went shopping in a hired Ford. The sporty Alfa, Lizzie’s pride and joy, had been towed from the water-splash and according to Stan at Forest Garage (Repairs, MOTs, General Maintenance, nothing too small or too large) was a complete write-off. So a hired Ford it was for the time being.
‘Much more sensible,’ Louise had said. ‘Although, what you really need for around here is a four-wheel drive vehicle with a cattle bar on the front.’
They met Niall and Christina and baby Tom in the supermarket. They both looked more relaxed and Christina was holding Niall’s hand.
‘It’s funny,’ said Louise later when they were out of earshot, ‘how no one guessed that Tarquin was Niall’s half-brother, and Niall got himself into such a state worrying that his mother would find out about his father’s infidelity. And now it is out in the open, it’s brought Niall and Christina closer, and even Niall’s mother doesn’t seem to mind.’
‘She doesn’t mind because she’s always known, and kept quiet for Niall’s sake. Dick Jamieson told me about it. Niall’s father bullied both Mrs Girling and his wife into silence, and since he found out Niall has never forgiven him. Then to make matters worse he quarrelled violently with Tarquin because it was Tarquin who’d been driving the night of the accident. They never spoke again once the court case was closed.’
‘So that’s why Niall never wanted to come back to Stibbington.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘Guilt and fear, I think.’
‘And now there are three more people dead,’ said Louise sombrely. ‘But that’s the end of it. No more murders.’
Arriving back at Silver Cottage they unloaded the Christmas shopping. ‘Well, that’s that,’ said Louise. ‘We’ll be on our own for Christmas Day, although we could ask Maguire to lunch. He’ll probably be on his own. What do you think?’
Lizzie smiled. Did Louise think she couldn’t read her mind? The girl was so transparent. She was trying to pair her off with the local widower, and she had no intention of being paired with anyone. But it was true, Maguire probably would be on his own with only Tess for company, and Christmas was not a good time to be alone.
She compromised. ‘You can invite Tess,’ she said. ‘I daresay she’ll bring her master along.’
© Angela Arney 2014
ISBN 978 0 7198 1604 8 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1605 5 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1606 2 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1368 9 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
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The right of Angela Arney to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
