'It's the white house, past the next lamp-post.'
He drew up and she waited impassively while he got out and opened the door for her. In silence he escorted her up the short path, as, he remembered unwillingly, he had done up her parents' path during their engagement. At the door she turned with a bright smile.
'Well, it was nice knowing you, as they say.'
He stood looking at her, trying to think of a suitable reply. The misery was as intense as he remembered. He hadn't expected to feel it again.
'Good night, Susie.'
He wasn't sure which of them moved, but suddenly they were straining together, her mouth avidly seeking his as her hands dug into his hair, forcing him even closer. He held on to her, the remembered intimacy of her igniting bones and blood with insatiable urgency. Her mouth, her full, sensual mouth, with its lingering taste of tobacco.
With a strength he didn't know he possessed, he wrenched himself free, gasping in draughts of cool air. She said, 'Dave!' Then, rapidly, 'Dave, Dave, Dave!'
He turned and stumbled back down the path. She made no attempt to stop him. He started the car, drove it for some yards down the road, then stopped again, gripping the steering-wheel.
He was a bloody fool to meet her. He should have guessed what would happen. Nothing had changed. They were still poles apart mentally and obsessed with each other's bodies. It would be no different from before.
During their last months together, they'd made love in anger, in bitterness, resenting their physical need of each other which took no account of the emotional scratchiness which was driving them apart. Then, when she'd gone, he'd endured nearly three years of celibacy. He didn't care for casual sex, nor was it open to one of his calling. Police Regulations saw to that.
He drew a deep breath. Her scent, newly remembered, still lingered in the car, bringing back not the stressful end of their marriage, but the times when last it had come fresh to his nostrils—their first few meetings, all those years ago. And he knew, despairingly, that if the chance offered, he would make love to her.
And Hannah? He felt a stab of guilt. Hannah was sanity, tenderness, comfort: Susie irritation and unhealthy obsession. He'd thought that after all this time he could handle it, and he'd been wrong. God knew where it would end.
He straightened, staring down the darkening road ahead of him. In the trees of the park an owl hooted. He turned the ignition key and the car moved slowly on down the road.
CHAPTER 9
Kathy said gently, 'You really should go home, you know. You don't look at all well.'
Carrie shook her head, wiping her hand across her mouth. 'I'll be all right, mum.'
'Is it your tooth again?'
'No. I—I ate something that upset me.'
'Then you should be in bed, not rushing about here with the Hoover. You need time to get over it.'
Carrie gripped the edge of the sink, her head bent over it. 'Please, Mrs Markham, let me stay. I'll—' She broke off, catching her lip between her teeth. Then, as Kathy watched in consternation, she crumpled, bowed over the sink as an avalanche of tears overcame her.
'Carrie! Oh, Carrie, love. Come and sit down.' Kathy prised her fingers off the sink and led her to a chair. Carrie slumped forward on to the table, her head in her arms.
'There's something else, too, isn't there? Can't you tell me? Perhaps I can help.'
'No one can,' Carrie said with finality. She sat up, reached in her apron for a handkerchief, and blew her nose. 'I'm sorry, mum. I'll be all right now.'
'But there might be something I can do.'
'No, really.' Carrie hesitated, then raised her swollen face to Kathy's. 'I'm going to have a baby.'
Kathy stared at her blankly. She'd never heard Carrie's name linked with an admirer. In her busy life, there didn't seem time for one.
'Are you sure? Have you seen the doctor?'
'I'm sure. I don't need the doctor to tell me that. It's morning sickness, you see.'
'Does your boyfriend know?'
Carrie bit her lip.
'Surely he'd help you? Or is he already married?'
'Oh mum, you don't understand!' The tears came again. Carrie covered her face with her handkerchief, rocking backwards and forwards in inconsolable grief.
Oh God!. Why hadn't she realized? Kathy knelt beside her and took her hand. 'Carrie, you were raped, weren't you?' The sobs continued unabated. 'When was it? How long ago? Have you told Matron?'
But Carrie, apparently regretting her confidence, resisted all attempts to make her elaborate. She was pregnant, and that's all she'd admit to. Patently, she regretted having gone that far. Regaining a precarious control, she gave Kathy a firm if watery smile and left the room.
The police should be told, Kathy thought uneasily. This extra evidence might be vital. Lois would know what to do. Yet even telling Lois seemed a betrayal of confidence.
After weighing the matter for some minutes, Kathy reached her usual conclusion. She would wait till Guy came home, and see what he thought. And with her course of action decided, she collected her shopping basket and thankfully left the house.
Jessica was reading to Mrs Southern when the police arrived.
'It's all right, Mrs Selby,' the Chief Inspector said. 'No need for you to go.' He felt the old lady would be more relaxed with someone familiar in the room. Matron, too, had followed him to the door. 'Chief Inspector Webb, ma'am, Shillingham CID. Now—' he drew up a chair—'I believe you saw someone from your window here, someone acting suspiciously. Is that right?'
Mrs Southern said clearly, 'Are you trying to have me certified, Matron?'
Webb looked startled and Lois came quickly into the room, but it was Jessica who answered. 'Quite the opposite, Mrs Southern. It's because we're sure you did see someone that Matron asked the Inspector to come.'
The old lady looked from one to the other. 'Father Christmas?' she inquired drily.
Webb said, 'Could you tell me when this was, ma'am?'
She studied him for a moment, then, deciding he was genuinely interested, paused to consider. 'It was the day Mrs Parbold was taken ill.'
Webb looked at Lois and raised his eyebrows.
'About a fortnight ago. I can check.'
'A Wednesday,' Mrs Southern put in. ‘I remember, because Carrie was here. She gave me my supper.'
'Wednesday, a fortnight ago.' Almost certainly the day of the murder. 'And what time would it be, ma'am?'
'Quite late. It was starting to get dark.'
'That's right,' Lois confirmed. 'Normally we put Mrs Southern to bed before the day staff go off duty, and she has supper in bed. But that day everything was delayed because of the emergency.'
'So what time was supper served?'
'About seven-thirty, I suppose.'
Webb stood up and looked down the length of the garden to Hinckley's Cottage. 'It's quite a distance, Mrs Southern. Are you quite sure about what you saw?'
'There's nothing wrong with my eyesight, Chief Inspector,' she answered crisply. 'It compensates for my other disabilities.' She glanced without emotion at the useless hands in her lap. 'However, if you'd like a demonstration: a car's just drawn into the drive down there, and a gentleman with fair hair is getting out. He's wearing a brown jacket and flannel trousers.'
'I'm impressed,' Webb conceded, watching Matthew Selby go into the house. 'So now we come to the crux. What exactly did you see, that Wednesday evening?'
'The house was in darkness, that was what interested me. I'm a nosey old lady, Chief Inspector, with little to do but sit here all day. I know who lives in all the houses along there, what time they go out and when they return. Gentlemen frequently call at that cottage, but I was surprised to see one emerge when no lights had been on.'
'How clearly could you see him?'
'Not clearly at all, but there's a street lamp at the gate.' 'Can you describe him?'
'No. He was bending forward, with a sack over his shoulder. It seemed to be quite heavy.'
> 'Was he as tall as the gentleman we've just seen?' She considered. 'I don't think so.'
Jessica sent Webb a triumphant glance, but it was premature. Mrs Southern added: 'Of course, with his stooping it's difficult to be certain.'
'You couldn't see the colour of his hair?'
'No, he was wearing a hood or cloak of some kind.' She paused. 'My confusion, Chief Inspector, was due to my being upset. I was worried about Mrs Parbold, the routine to which I'm so accustomed had been disrupted, and I felt—disorientated. Which was what led to the foolishness about Santa Claus. But it undoubtedly looked like him.'
'So he came out of the front door carrying a sack. What colour was it?'
'Black.' No hesitation that time. 'And what did he do with it?'
'He put it in the boot of the car. Then he went back and collected a suitcase, pulled the door shut, and drove off.'
'Had you seen the car before?' 'Oh yes, it was always in the drive.' 'Now, Mrs Southern. You say you often saw gendemen come and go. Did you notice that one arrive?' 'I'm afraid not.'
'But you'd been at the window all day.'
'Yes, but I have a little nap, you see, after my lunch. I saw the lady who lived there go out, while Nurse was helping me with my meal. But I didn't see her come back.'
'So she might have returned with this man soon after lunch, while you were having your nap?'
'She might.'
Jessica's heart was thudding against her ribcage. He was thinking of Matthew and Mrs Cowley at The Orange Tree. 'Or,' she said, surprising them, 'she could have gone back alone, and the man arrived later.'
'True.' Webb considered for a moment, tugging at his lip. 'Would you recognize any of the gentlemen you'd seen going to that house?'
'I might. There was a tall one, I remember, who walked like a soldier.'
'But you don't know if you'd seen the one with the sack before?'
'Regretfully, no.' She paused. 'I don't see the papers, Chief Inspector—they're too difficult for me to manage— but I listen to the news on the wireless. Do you believe what I saw was the murderer leaving with that poor woman's body?'
'I believe it might well have been, ma'am.'
*
'Not much wrong with that one's brain,' Webb told Jackson, who'd awaited him in the car. 'Too bad she wasn't still at her window the night of the rape. We'd probably have had him by now.'
'Talking of which, Guv, a message just came over the radio. The results from the first batch of blood samples are in, and there's a non-secretor among them.'
'Who, Ken?'
'One of the mob up at the Hall. A Mr Leo Sandon.'
'Well, well. Then let us make our way there without delay and have a word with the gentleman.'
'Inspector Crombie says his alibi was weak, too. He went out after dinner but just "wandered about", he said.'
'There are three lads there, too, don't forget. Rather a wild bunch, from all accounts.'
'Half French,' confirmed Jackson, with an endemic distrust of foreigners. 'Look—isn't that Miss Speight, hurrying down the hill?'
'So it is. Slow down, Ken, would you.' Webb wound down his window and Carrie, turning when she heard the car, started as she recognized its occupants.
'Good morning, Miss Speight.' She nodded silently. 'Remembered anything else that might help us? Anything missing from the cottage that you forgot to mention?'
'Well, there was the rubber gloves, sir. It's probably not important, and I forgot about them because I bought a new pair straight after. But the ones that hung over the sink— Mrs Cowley's, like—they'd disappeared.'
There'd been a suggestion of rubber on the typewriter keys. Crafty bugger, Jackson thought with unwilling admiration.
Webb nodded. 'Anything else?'
'I don't think so, sir.'
'Well, let us know if you remember anything, however unimportant it may seem.'
'Yes, sir.' She stood looking after them as the car moved away down the hill.
'You know what I told you about Millie, Guv?' Jackson said slowly.
'That she's going to make you a father again?'
'Yes. Well, that Miss Speight's got the same look about her, round the eyes. Wouldn't surprise me if she's in the family way.'
'Nonsense, Ken. You've got babies on the brain.'
The Honourable Leo Sandon baffled the policemen. With a great show of cooperation, he told them nothing. 'You see, Superintendent—' (Webb let that pass)—'when I'm composing, I'm unaware of my surroundings. I wander as the muse takes me, registering only fleeting impressions of my whereabouts as they impinge on my poetry.'
'I see, sir,' Webb said stolidly. 'Verse you write, is it? But you'd know if you wandered as far as the village, surely?'
'But you see, Superintendent,' Leo insisted earnestly, 'one day is much like another as far as I'm concerned. I'm not at all clear which day you're interested in, and even if I were, I shouldn't be able to distinguish it after all this time.'
'Nutty as a fruit-cake,' Jackson said gloomily on the way back to Shillingham, and Webb was inclined to agree.
Jessica told Matthew of Webb's visit as he drove her home from The Willows. 'That window's like a lookout post,' she said. 'We watched you get out of the car and go into the house.'
'Just as well I hadn't a sack over my shoulder.'
'Don't joke about it, Matthew.' She was remembering the old lady's nap, during which both Mrs Cowley and her murderer had entered the cottage, either separately or together.
'Carrie arrived as I was leaving to fetch you,' he added. 'Steak for supper this evening.'
'I could take over the cooking now, you know.'
'But why should you, as long as she's prepared to do it? And she's probably glad of the extra cash.'
'What did you have for lunch?' 'I opened a can of beans.'
'Oh, darling! I could come back and see to it when Carrie's not there.'
'I shan't starve. I'm more concerned about your taking on too much up there. I'd have thought half a day was enough.'
'We'll see how it goes,'Jessica said diplomatically.
When they reached the cottage, Matthew returned to his study and Jessica went to the kitchen. Carrie was peeling potatoes at the sink. She looked paler than ever, and her eyes were red-rimmed as though she'd been weeping. Was she still grieving for Mrs Cowley, or had something else upset her?
'Hello, Carrie,' she said with false heartiness. 'Everything all right?'
Carrie nodded, pushing her hair off her face with the back of her hand.
'I was saying to my husband, I'm perfectly capable of taking over the cooking now, if you'd like to stop. It must be a tie coming here so often—we do appreciate what you've done.'
'It's no trouble, mum,' Carrie said dully. 'You're quite happy to continue?' 'If you'd like me to.'
There was a brief silence. Carrie went on with the potatoes while Jessica cast round for another topic of conversation. And found one.
'By the way, I've been meaning to ask you. Do you think your sister would come and wash my hair for me?'
'Yes, mum, of course.'
'It doesn't need setting, but though I've tried to wash it, I can't manage very well.'
'Della'd do it. She often goes to ladies' houses.' 'Then would you ask her, please?'
That, Jessica thought with satisfaction, would complete her wellbeing. With clean hair and her days safely occupied, she could look life in the eye again. And as if to test her, the phone rang.
Carrie looked up, but Jessica turned to the door. 'It's all right, I'll take it.'
A woman's voice said hesitatingly, 'May I speak to Matthew Selby, please?'
'Of course. Who shall I say?'
The briefest of pauses. Then, 'Angela.'
For the space of a second the name meant nothing. Then realization came, and with it apprehension. Just a moment.' She was actress enough to allow no tremor in her voice. She swung to the study door and opened it. Matthew looked up, a frown between his eyes.
'Damnation!' He rose quickly, brushed past her in the doorway, and lifted the receiver. Jessica leant against the lintel, watching him.
'Angie?' He'd turned slightly away from her, as though to exclude her from their conversation. She studied dispassionately the set of his shoulders, the fair head bent attentively to his ex-wife's voice. 'No, I hadn't forgotten.' A pause. 'Yes, I should think so, if it means so much to her. It's only a couple of hours' drive ... At the Carlton?'
Jessica could hear the low hum of the woman's voice over the wires, without being able to distinguish the words. Matthew turned, meeting her eyes though still mentally linked to Angie. 'That sounds a sensible arrangement. Will you make the reservation, and I'll confirm it in writing. Thanks. I'll see you then.'
He put the phone down and Jessica stood motionless, waiting. 'It's my daughter's birthday a week d Saturday,' he said. 'She wants me at her party.'
'Oh.'
'It's being held at a local hotel; Angie suggests I spend the night there afterwards. You'd be all right for one night, wouldn't you?'
'I suppose so. I hope the murderer's caught by then.'
'If you're nervous, ask Carrie to sleep in the spare room.'
Jessica said lightly, 'Angie phoning reminds me I've not asked the other Angie over, as I promised. She'll be back at school now, so it will have to be a Saturday.'
'I'll keep out of the way, then. She won't want to see me.'
'You must put in an appearance, at least, or she'll think you're avoiding her.'
'I should be!' He came across and put an arm round her. 'Darling, I'm sorry. Ever since we arrived here, I've been behaving like a bear with a sore head. You're probably regretting having married me.'
'I wouldn't say that.' She turned and regarded him with her strange, slate-coloured eyes. 'Though I have wondered what was wrong.'
'A couple of minor matters, like rape and murder. Nothing to worry about.'
'You don't really think Webb suspects you?' But she wondered herself, especially after that morning.
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