Quantrill tapped on the glass. At first the man in the shop failed to hear; when he finally looked up and came towards the door he seemed to find motion difficult, as though he were a sleeper wading through a bad dream.
Quantrill roused him gently. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Chief Inspector Quantrill and Sergeant Tait, county CID. We’re very sorry to have to trouble you at a time like this …’
Mr Gedge blinked and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He was lean, stooping, his thin remnant of hair appearing to be slipping off the back of his shiny head. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose with his forefinger out of nervous habit as he answered.
‘Oh … Oh yes, Charlie Godbold told me that you’d want to see me.’
‘It’s purely routine, sir. Just a few questions we have to ask. We won’t keep you long.’
Mr Gedge backed clumsily. ‘Yes. Yes of course. You don’t mind talking in here, I hope.’ He pushed sideways round a stack of cardboard cartons in order to get behind the counter, on which he had been assembling a pile of groceries ‘I’m all behind, you see, on account of having to go—to go out this morning.’
‘You’re working today, Mr Gedge?’ asked Tait, surprised.
The shopkeeper gave a thin smile. ‘Well, I’m not open, of course, the customers couldn’t expect that. But I must get the deliveries ready, I can’t let my regulars down. It’s the goodwill, you see, the personal service—it’s the only way I can try to keep them out of the supermarkets in Breckham.’ His hands moved blindly, assembling packets and cans. ‘You don’t mind if I carry on, do you?’
Quantrill knew the therapeutic value of it. ‘Don’t let us hinder you, Mr Gedge. We just have to ask a few questions about Mary.’
‘Yes, of course.’ The dead girl’s father paused in his work to push his glasses up on to his forehead and run a finger along the lower lids of his eyes. ‘Excuse me.’ He turned away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.
Quantrill, hating the necessary intrusiveness of his job, glanced round while he gave the man time to recover. It was a tall thin shop with a heavy mahogany counter, which must have been part of the original fittings, down one side. The rest of the shop had been modernised, with open shelves and a deep freeze cabinet containing the staples, fish fingers and frozen peas; but there was still an old-fashioned bacon slicer and a cheese cutter, and the shelves behind the counter were filled with jars of sweets that reminded Quantrill of the village shop of his boyhood. And hanging from a high rack over the counter, even more reminiscent of the shop he remembered from the nineteen-forties, was the drapery section: cotton pinafores, children’s socks, women’s blouses, men’s working shirts, tweed jackets and flat caps, all in a choice of shades and sizes. Been there ever since the’forties too, some of them, from the look of the styles.
Mr Gedge polished his glasses, pushed his handkerchief away and added a jumbo packet of cornflakes to the goods on the counter.
‘We’re not sure, Mr Gedge,’ Quantrill said gently, ‘when the accident happened. We have to try to establish that. Have you any idea?’
The shopkeeper looked puzzled. ‘Why, early this morning, wasn’t it? Sunrise time. That’s what Charlie Godbold said. She must have gone out to pick flowers—you know, May Day …’ He began to sound not entirely convinced.
‘Is that what she said she was going to do?’ asked Tait.
Mr Gedge looked blank. ‘Well, no. No, she didn’t say anything about what she was going to do. She often went for walks though, she liked it down by the river.’
‘And you saw or heard her leaving the house early this morning?’ pursued Tait.
‘Ah, well, no … But then, I wouldn’t. Mary sleeps—’ a spasm of grief contorted his face, but he managed to change tense without breaking down ‘—slept out in the old caravan at the far end of the orchard. Has done for the past eighteen months, except in the very worst of the weather. Liked to be a bit independent, you know how it is. Came and went as she pleased.’
Tait’s head lifted with interest. Quantrill spoke quickly, before the sergeant could put too sharp a question.
‘Yes, of course, understandable at that age. But you do know for sure, Mr Gedge, that Mary slept in the caravan last night?’
‘Well, yes—I mean, where else—?’
‘At a friend’s perhaps?’ Quantrill suggested lightly, anxious not to alarm him.
‘Why, no. I mean, she’d have said, wouldn’t she? She didn’t say anything about going out last night at all. She was a quiet girl, you see, not one for racketing about. Not much opportunity, anyway, out here in the village. Besides, she always had a terrible lot of school work to do. She’s—she was very clever, did you know that? Going to one of the oldest colleges in Cambridge, where they’ve only just started taking girls. She was so thrilled—but there, she deserved it, she’d studied night after night … only her mother didn’t like her to keep late hours reading, and that’s why Mary enjoyed having a bit of independence. I expect that’s what she was doing last night, reading in the caravan. If she’d been going out with anyone, she’d have said.’
Quantrill had never had any illusion that his own daughters, when they lived at home, had given him an accurate account of their activities and intentions. But Mary’s father had grief enough; it would be cruel to shake his conviction that she had always taken him into her confidence.
And perhaps she had. But her use of the caravan as a home worried Quantrill just as much as it interested Tait.
The sergeant was already coming in with the next question, and Quantrill was glad to hear that he phrased it kindly.
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling us when you last saw Mary, Mr Gedge?’
The shopkeeper had been looking from one policeman to another with a deepening frown. Now he forced himself into activity again. He ticked an item on a grocery list, and then began to weigh out half a pound of rum and butter toffees while he talked.
‘Yes, let me see … that would have been early yesterday evening. Mary brought—’ his voice tripped, but he managed to continue on a higher note ‘—she brought me a cup of tea, and stayed to serve some customers while I drank it. Thursdays and Fridays are my late opening evenings, I’m open till eight. Trying to provide a service, you see—so many women are out at work during the day. But things went quiet about half past six, and she left … Yes, that would be the last time I saw her.’ He fumbled for his handkerchief again. ‘Mrs Gedge probably saw her later, she may be able to help you more than I can.’
‘We’d certainly like to talk to your wife, if she’s not too distressed.’
Mr Gedge mopped his eyes and managed a smile. ‘Oh, she’ll be ready for you. She’s got a lot more courage than I have, she’s taken this very bravely.’ He lowered his voice, as Pc Godbold had done when referring to Mrs Gedge. ‘She’s religious, you see. It sustains her, it really does. I sometimes wish I had it, but there …’ He polished his glasses with a dry corner of his handkerchief. And then a sudden imperious rapping at the window made them all turn.
Tait went to investigate. A dark strapping middle-aged woman was peering into the shop, mouthing and gesticulating. Tait pointed to the Closed notice and waved her away, but still she rapped. Irritated, he turned the key and stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him.
‘The shop is closed, Madam,’ he said, choosing a pompous role. ‘Mr Gedge has been bereaved.’
The woman gave him a hostile stare. ‘Well I know that, don’t I? Everybody in Ashthorpe knows that. And I’m sorry for him, I really am, but there … life’s got to go on, and I’ve got nothing for my man’s tea.’
Tait’s professional irritation turned to genuine indignation on the shopkeeper’s behalf. ‘You can hardly expect to worry Mr Gedge when his daughter has just died. I suggest that you go to one of the other shops in the village.’
The woman flushed, puce as the stripes on her nylon overall. She stood eye to eye with the sergeant. ‘Don’t you tell me what to do, Sunny
Jim—I’m one of Bob Gedge’s best customers, and if he can’t serve me during shop hours that’s a rum ’un! I wouldn’t intrude if he was in the house, but I know he’s in the shop, I saw him, and if he’s not too bereaved to get his grocery deliveries ready—’
‘Madam,’ said Tait coldly, ‘we are police officers. I must ask you—’
Behind him, the door was tugged open. Mr Gedge peered out, his bald head and scrawny neck poking like those of a tortoise from the ill-fitting collar of his dust-coat.
‘Ah, there you are, Bob,’ cried the woman. ‘I was only just saying—’ she remembered to lower her voice: ‘Well, there, I’m ever so sorry about Mary, I really am, ever such a nice girl, and I wouldn’t trouble you for the world only you weren’t here this morning and I’ve got nothing for my man’s tea and I knew you wouldn’t mind.’
Mr Gedge looked worried. ‘I’m sorry, Daph, but I’ve got the police here you see …’
The woman peered over his shoulder, agog with interest, to see who else was in the shop. Quantrill kept his head well down.
‘Purely a routine visit,’ the sergeant pointed out firmly. ‘Now if you’ll please—’
‘Oh. Oh well, I’ll just take half of bacon for now, Bob, seeing as you’re busy,’ said the woman graciously, ‘and a tin of rice pudding. The rest’ll do tomorrow. Better take a tin of Chum an’all, though, can’t let the poor dog starve.’
‘If you could just come back in half an hour, Daph,’ pleaded Mr Gedge. ‘I haven’t had time to bone the bacon yet, you see, and with the police here …’
‘Back in half an hour! Now look you here, Bob Gedge, I’ve been up and down this street like a yo-yo today, trying to get served—’ She found herself impaled on one of Sergeant Tait’s ice-pick glances, and changed her theme. ‘Well, all right, then, I’m sure I don’t want to hinder the police. Tell Hilda I’m ever so sorry, Bob, will you? And I’ll see about a whip-round for a wreath.’ She backed from the door. ‘An accident, was it?’ she asked Tait confidentially. ‘Only you never know what these young girls get up to these days, and you do hear such things …’
Tait shut the door on the bereaved father and caught at her sleeve as she turned to go. ‘What things?’ he demanded.
She shook him off indignantly. ‘Well, things in the papers. Not that I’ve got anything against Bob’s Mary, mind. Never heard a word of talk against her. But that’s what I mean, it’s not natural for a girl of her age not to have a bit of fun, and you can’t tell me she spent all her time studying. After all, look at her brother. Butter wouldn’t have melted in Derek’s mouth, no interest in anything except his books—but we all know what he got up to on the quiet. Makes you wonder, eh? Makes you think. You know what they say, still waters run deep.’
Tait turned his back on her, went into the shop and locked the door.
Mr Gedge was sitting on the bentwood chair by the counter, passing his handkerchief over his face. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he was telling the chief inspector. ‘Sorry about the interruption. Only it’s the goodwill, you see, you have to try not to offend.’
The policemen exchanged grimaces. ‘Of course, Mr Gedge,’ said Quantrill. ‘I’m sorry we’re keeping you so long, but we do have to try to build up an accurate picture. Did Mary receive or make any telephone calls yesterday?’
‘Not as far as I know.’ The shopkeeper pushed himself up wearily from his chair, and began to pack the groceries in a cardboard box.
‘Can you tell me what sort of mood Mary was in yesterday evening? Was she depressed at all, or worried?’
‘Why, bless you no!’ said Mr Gedge warmly. ‘That wasn’t Mary’s nature. She was quiet, yes, but she wasn’t moody. And yesterday she was happy, just as usual. I mean, she’d got nothing to be worried about. She’d passed all her exams, and left school at Easter. I was going to pay her for helping me in the shop during the summer, so there was no call for her to be worried about money. She was on top of the world.’
‘Any—’ Quantrill sought for the most delicate way to put it ‘—any family problems?’
Mr Gedge shrugged. ‘I suppose Charlie Godbold told you about Derek?’ he said slowly. ‘He had to get married instead of going to Cambridge, and Mary was very upset about it at the time. She’d got over that, though.’
But had Derek? wondered Tait. He spoke casually: ‘Would your son have gone to the same college as Mary? To King’s?’
‘Oh no.’ Mr Gedge cut a piece of cheese, absently slipping a sliver of it into his mouth before weighing and wrapping it. ‘Derek was going to one of the other colleges, Selwyn.’ He looked over his shoulder, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I’d be greatly obliged if you didn’t mention Derek to Mrs Gedge. She can’t bring herself to forgive him, you see.’
Tait changed the subject. ‘Could Mary drive?’
‘No. Some of her friends could, I think—they’d sometimes come and pick her up by car if they’d got anything planned. But Mary always mentioned it if she was going out.’
Quantrill, conscious of the heaviness of Mrs Godbold’s cheese and pickle sandwiches, helped himself to a packet of mints and placed the money on the till. ‘Did you know any of her friends, Mr Gedge?’
‘Why yes. One of them came over here sometimes, Sally somebody, a nice girl. She was a school friend—most of them were, I think. I can’t tell you anything about them, though. Mary spent a lot of time helping me here in the shop at weekends and holidays, and she’d chatter away about plays and tennis matches and swimming, and all these names would come out: Sally and Liz and Dale and Dusty and Miggy or Moggy or some such—to tell you the truth, I didn’t listen half the time. It was all a bit beyond me. But whatever she was doing, I knew that I had nothing to worry about—Mary never gave me a moment’s anxiety.’
It was a great deal more than Quantrill could say of his own daughters; and small enough comfort for the man, now that Mary was dead. The chief inspector would have liked to leave it at that but, recalling what young Godbold had said, there was one more question to be asked.
‘Do you happen to know if your daughter had a boyfriend, Mr Gedge?’
His conviction was absolute. ‘Oh, she didn’t. Not a boyfriend in the sense of—of going courting,’ he said, offering an expression that must have been current in his own youth. ‘Well, they’d had boys at the school since last year, so naturally she knew some of them. Dale, for one. But there was nothing serious. She didn’t have any love affairs.’
Then, as though anxious not to appear to be denigrating his daughter, he added quickly, ‘Mind you, it’s not that she wasn’t pretty. Here—’
The colour print must have been on the counter in front of him all the time, propped up against a pyramid of canned fruit so that he could see it as he tried to work. It trembled between his fingers as he held it out for the policemen to see, and neither of them attempted to take it from him even for a moment.
Mary Gedge had been very attractive. Her drowned hair had looked brown to Tait, but now he saw that it had been blonde. Blonde shoulder-length hair, blue eyes, delicate features, a slight figure; not pertly pretty, but almost beautiful, with a look of serene happiness.
Quantrill said nothing. He thought of Alison, who was just a year older than Mary, and of how he might feel if Alison died, and he knew that there was nothing he could say.
‘I took the photo this spring,’ Mr Gedge said in a thickening voice. ‘It was just after she’d heard she was going to Cambridge. She was so happy—it was what she’d been working for all these years at school, and why she hadn’t minded not having much of a social life here. She’d set her heart on Cambridge—she once said to me, “That’s when I’ll really start living. Dad.”’
He stood with his head bowed over the box of groceries, trying to hold his shoulders rigid in an attempt to conceal his tears.
‘Thank you very much, Mr Gedge,’ said Quantrill gently. ‘You’ve been very helpful. If we could just see your wife for a few moments, please, just to con
firm …’
Mr Gedge straightened, blew his nose, and invited them round behind the counter. ‘Yes, of course. You’ll find her down at the caravan. Through this door and across the yard and the lawn, and then you’ll be able to see the caravan at the far end of the orchard. Mary always liked to keep it private, you see, and my wife thought she’d go and give it a bit of a turnout. Get rid of the rubbish, like.’
Quantrill’s eyes bulged. ‘She what?’
He broke into a heavy run but Tait was ahead of him, the ends of his clover-pink trousers flapping as his legs scythed through the orchard grass.
Chapter Six
The orchard was vulgar with colour. Only a bad amateur painter would have sprayed so much pink and white apple blossom against so blue a sky, and splattered so many brilliant sunbursts of dandelion yellow against such vivid green grass. The old caravan was the sole drab feature, erupting like a weather-stained giant puff-ball from a patch of buttercups near the boundary hedge.
As Tait ran up a hand emerged from the open doorway of the caravan to shake out a duster. It was followed by a suspicious head.
Mrs Gedge was a smaller version of her husband, but unmistakably tougher: back straight, hair scraped into an uncompromising knot, glasses flashing formidably in the sunlight.
‘And who may you be?’ she demanded.
‘Detective Sergeant Tait, county police. This—’ as his superior pounded up ‘—is Chief Inspector Quantrill.’
She nodded, partially reassured. ‘As long as you’re not from the newspapers.’
‘Mrs Gedge,’ said Quantrill, trying to control his panting breath, ‘may I ask what you’re doing?’
An ugly red flush spread upwards from her throat. ‘If it’s any concern of yours, I’m sorting out my daughter’s things.’
Death and the Maiden Page 5
