'But why?'
'To frighten you, Mrs Selby. Possibly to warn you.' He paused. 'Which rhymes did he play? Had they anything in common?'
'Only that they were about women,'
Jessica said, avoiding Matthew's eye.
'Curly locks, Where are you going to, my pretty maid? and Mary, Mary.'' She added shakily. 'I think you're right—he was trying to make a point. He played the last line twice: Pretty maids all in a row.'
And he had indeed had quite a row of them, Webb thought grimly. 'We can put a recorder on your phone,' he said aloud, 'but it's a bit late for that now. Did you hear any coins being inserted?'
'No, but he could have done it before I answered.'
'I think we must assume that whoever it was knew you were alone. And since your husband would normally be at home on a Sunday morning—'
'He must have seen Matthew leave?'
'Very likely.'
'But damn it, Chief Inspector, I'd been gone an hour and a half. If I hadn't stopped unexpectedly, I should have been home.'
'Then he may simply have noticed the car wasn't there, and decided to put the plan into effect.' 'So he must live quite near?'
'In the village, certainly, but as we know from Mrs Southern, this cottage is visible over quite a large area.'
Webb turned to Matthew. 'You mentioned being late home, sir. Why was that?'
Calmly, holding the policeman's eye, he repeated his account of his ill-timed walk.
Webb made no comment, but turned back to Jessica. 'Unless our man was alone in the house, he'll have used a call-box. There are only two in the village, one outside The Orange Tree and the other on the top road near The Willows.'
'Almost opposite here, in fact.'
'Quite. I'd say that was the more likely.'
'But wouldn't it be a risk, in broad daylight, to play a cassette into the mouthpiece?'
'You can get pretty small ones now. If he had it in a paper bag, say, on top of the instrument, it wouldn't be visible to anyone passing, and in any case there's no footpath on that side of the road.'
'He might have been seen entering or leaving the kiosk,' Jackson put in. They all turned to him, having almost forgotten his presence. 'By someone on their way to The Packhorse, for instance, for a lunch-time drink.'
'Quite right, Sergeant. The clients of The Packhorse will be getting tired of us.' He glanced at his watch. 'They may still be there; we'll go and join them. In the meantime, the kiosk will be sealed off till it can be gone over.' He rose, and Jackson with him. 'From now on, Mrs Selby, Constable Frost will keep an eye on you. Just take normal precautions and try not to worry.'
Jessica sat with clenched hands as Matthew saw the policemen out. Try not to worry! Hysterical laughter rose in a tide inside her. Even if she weren't raped or murdered, her marriage was under threat. Matthew wouldn't easily forget her greeting of him. And still the inane rhymes went round and round in her head. Nobody asked you, sir, she said.
As Matthew turned from the door she struggled to her feet. 'The beef will be grossly overdone, but we'll have to make the best of it. Will you lay the table?'
Silently, pursuing their own thoughts, they set about preparing for lunch.
It happened about nine-thirty. Lois was relaxing in her room, as she'd been twelve days earlier when Frances came to her door and the whole nightmare began. This time, the interruption was more dramatic. There was a cry, faint through intervening walls, followed by frenzied shouts of 'Help! Help! Someone come quickly!'
Lois wrenched open her door as Pammy Ironside hurried past. 'It's Mrs Southern,' she said over her shoulder. Together they ran into the old lady's room. Immediately opposite, the curtains were pulled aside and the window gaped wide, its sash pushed up to its highest extent. Mrs Southern lay in bed, sheet to her chin, as Pammy had left her twenty minutes earlier.
Lois ran to the window and leant out, listening intently. Immediately to her right, the skeletal framework of the fire escape led down to the dark garden. Nothing moved, either on it or in the shadows beneath, but the lawn had been cut that afternoon, and some wet blades of grass glistened on the broad sill.
Heart pounding, she turned back into the room. Pammy was bending over Mrs Southern.
'What happened?' Lois tried to speak calmly.
The old voice was surprisingly firm. 'I wasn't asleep, thank God. If I had been, I doubt if I'd have woken again.'
'It was only a burglar!' Lois said sharply, but her eyes fell under the scathing glance.
Ignoring her, Mrs Southern continued. 'The window was open a few inches, as I like it. The first sound I heard was it being pushed up. I was more puzzled than afraid. Then the curtain was pulled aside and a foot came over the sill. That's when I screamed. I startled him, of course. He hesitated—perhaps wondering if he'd time to silence me— then, as I went on shouting, he retreated rapidly.'
'Stay here, Nurse,' Lois ordered quickly. 'I'll send some tea up and get on to the police.'
So for the second time that day, Webb and Jackson drove out to Westridge, followed by Scenes of Crime officers. 'At least,' Webb said hopefully, 'we should get a footprint. There was a heavy dew this evening.'
But he was wrong. The fire escape was innocent of any recognizable prints, though a smudged wetness appeared on its steps, accompanied by blades of grass. The explanation was provided by Mrs Southern.
'He was in his stocking feet,' she said positively, in reply to his question. 'Grey socks. I saw them quite clearly.'
'Over his shoes, no doubt,' Webb said disgustedly. 'What else did you see, ma'am?'
'A pair of hands, in gloves, and a—a woolly face, with gaps for eyes.'
'The helmet again. Nothing you could recognize?'
'No. I think he wore a black, high-necked sweater, but I couldn't be sure.'
Webb turned to Lois. 'Were the side gates locked, as I requested?'
'I bolted them myself, before it got dark.'
'Then how the hell did he get in?'
When they went downstairs, the Scenes of Crime man told them. The left-hand gate had been unlocked. 'It's easily done, Guv. The bolt's down near the bottom and there's a big enough gap underneath to put your hand through and draw it back.'
Lois said quietly, 'Was it simply a burglar, Chief Inspector?'
'I'm afraid not, Mrs Winter. The woollen helmet's pretty conclusive.'
'That's what I thought. But what's been worrying me is how he knew which was Mrs Southern's room.'
'Unfortunately she received a lot of publicity in the press. The point was made that her window overlooked Hinckley's Cottage.'
'So does my own.'
'But not directly. Our man could have stood on the lower road and picked out the most likely.' 'Will he try again, do you think?'
'No, Mrs Winter, I can reassure you on that at least. There'll be a man in the grounds until this business is sorted out. Two incidents here are more than enough.'
Back in the car, Jackson asked, 'Do you really reckon that, Guv? That the villain sussed out the window from the road?'
'It's feasible.'
'It's also feasible he had inside knowledge.'
'That possibility didn't escape me, Ken. Our friend is certainly stepping up his activities. We can only hope that will prove his undoing.'
CHAPTER 1 1
It rained all day Tuesday. Matthew had left early for Oxford, and Jessica spent the day at home. She could have phoned The Willows for someone to collect her, but since the incident on Sunday night, it no longer seemed a sanctuary. The frightened faces and hushed voices yesterday had added to her own unease, especially since she felt responsible. If she hadn't followed up the figure with the sack, it would never have happened.
However, Mrs Southern had seemed of all of them the least upset by her adventure. To her, it was the final vindication of her sight of 'Santa Claus', and she savoured it to the full.
So, though it was cowardly to desert her, Jessica'd been glad of the excuse of Matthe
w's absence. And she'd have Carrie's company during the morning.
In the event, that was a disappointment. Pale and drawn, Carrie crept mouse-like round the house, her red-rimmed eyes slipping away from Jessica's every time they met. What was wrong with the girl? she thought irritably. She'd been bright enough when they'd first come, but since the news of Mrs Cowley's murder she'd gone steadily downhill. And today of all days, Jessica needed cheerful companionship.
Thank goodness she'd be out this evening. She liked the Markhams, but she'd gladly have gone anywhere to get away from the cottage and the brooding atmosphere which she now imagined filled it.
This intensified when, having prepared the lunch, Carrie left, since even her wan face provided another human presence in the house. The heavy rain driving against the windows and the lowering sky made the room prematurely dark. Jessica found herself glancing repeatedly at the phone, and praying it wouldn't ring. If it did, should she answer it? She was relieved when it was time to change.
For the first time, she had to manoeuvre the stairs alone. Suppose she fell? How long would it be till she was found? And who would find her? The hairs rose in the nape of her neck.
But she didn't fall. The lighter plaster was easier to manipulate, and she reached the landing without mishap and with a sense of triumph which lightened her mood. By the time Charles Palmer called as arranged, she was waiting for him.
He stood at the door under a huge umbrella, the rain slanting down behind him, and her sense of unreality returned. She was setting off in the darkness with a man who might be a murderer. How did she know his wife was waiting in the car?
His bright black eyes were on her face, his dark hair tightly curled in the damp atmosphere. Curly locks, Curly locks—
'Give me one of your crutches and take my arm,' he said. Oh God, Matthew, why aren't you here? Fearfully she launched herself on the slippery path, clinging to the wet sleeve of his mackintosh. Behind the streaming car window, the pale disc of his wife's face swam like an exotic fish in a tank. But at least she was there. Jessica shook her head to clear it, and the rain that fell on her face dispelled the fantasy.
'What a night!' Annette Palmer exclaimed, as her husband helped Jessica into the back. Charles shook the umbrella and got into the car, his hair glistening with droplets in the light which, as he slammed the door, went out.
'How's your husband's research coming along?' Annette inquired, as they set off slowly along the dark tunnel of the road.
'He seems quite pleased with it.'
'Will he get it done in time? Though I suppose it won't matter now, if you want to stay longer.'
Jessica repressed a shudder. 'The lease was for four weeks. I think he'll have finished by then.' Blessed, blessed London, with its crowds and streetlights and theatres. How she longed to be back there! Would they be free to return when they wished, or would that hard-eyed detective keep them here till he'd closed the case?
They were turning into the driveway of the Markhams' house. No sign yet of Matthew's car. Guy appeared with another umbrella, and they were shepherded into the warm, welcoming hall. A small boy, in dressing-gown and slippers, watched them shyly from the kitchen door.
'William's just finishing his supper,' Kathy explained. 'I said he could come and say good night before going upstairs. Now, come inside and get warm, everyone. I dare say we don't need a fire yet, but it helps to lighten the gloom!'
'Where's Angie?' Jessica asked as she was assisted into the sitting-room.
'Tuesday's her late evening. She stays at school for drama, and doesn't get back till nine. Now, what's everyone drinking?' Kathy paused. 'By the way, I suggest we keep off the topic of rape and murder. For this evening at least, let's enjoy ourselves.'
'Here, here!' Charles said heartily, his back to the fire, and Jessica settled into her chair with a small sigh of relief. But just once, before she closed her mind to the subject, she let herself cast a considering look at Annette Palmer. With more make-up, Jessica thought professionally, she could be quite attractive. As it was, with her fair hair, pale skin, and the cream silk dress she wore, there was no contrast and the effect was insipid. What, she wondered before she could stop herself, had Freda Cowley looked like? More vibrant, she felt sure.
She took the glass Guy offered her. Kathy was saying, 'It was so sweet of you to have Angie round. She came home positively glowing.'
'She has definite promise,' Jessica said, 'but of course she's very young. She might change her mind about what she wants to do.'
'I doubt it. She's fifteen now, and she's lived and breathed theatre since she was six, and we took her to Peter Pan. As far as she's concerned, O- and A-levels are a necessary evil to get through before she can concentrate on acting.'
'Well, if in a few years' time she comes to London, do ask her to contact me. I might be able to help.'
The conversation became general, and turned to the Michaelmas Fair at the end of the week.
'You will be coming, won't you, Jessica?' Kathy asked.
'This Saturday? Unfortunately Matthew has to be in London.'
'Then come with us. Will you be able to walk well enough?'
'As long as I can sit down when I need to.'
'That's no problem. It's usually good fun—the travelling fair comes—and it'll pass the time for you, while Matthew's away.'
Jessica looked again at the clock. She hoped his delayed arrival wasn't holding up the meal. Young William came in to say good night and was packed off to bed. Second drinks were served. Charles launched into an explicit description of a golf tournament he'd just won. And at last, as the hands of the clock reached eight-forty-five, there was a ring at the bell. Guy went to answer it and a minute later Matthew appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled and his trousers caked with mud.
'Apologies, everyone. What a night to have a puncture! I'll clean myself up and be with you in a moment.'
Guy directed him to the cloakroom and had a drink ready for his return. 'Where did it happen?'
'On the A420. I'd been making quite good time until then, and knowing you were waiting made matters worse.' He emptied his glass quickly, and Kathy led the way to the dining-room.
It was probably hindsight that made those next few minutes portentous. At the time, Jessica was aware simply of heightened perception—a smudge of mud on Matthew's cheek which he'd missed when washing, the elaborate embroidery on her napkin, the globules of cream in her soup. Behind her, rain rattled against the windows, and the panes shook in a gust of wind.
'Foretaste of winter,' Guy proclaimed. 'Before we know where we are, it'll be Christmas!'
'Oh no!' Kathy protested. 'This is a freak day—September's my favourite month. Still warm and sunny enough to sit out during the day, but cool in the evening, and when everyone's safely home you can draw the curtains and be cosy.'
'Talking of being safely home,' Guy said, 'shouldn't Angie be back?' As he spoke, they heard the sound of the front door.
'There she is now,' Kathy said. 'She'll have eaten at school, but she'll probably look in to say hello.'
Matthew, across the table from Jessica, had stopped eating and was looking towards the door. When it remained closed, he continued with his soup. Kathy, too, was expecting her daughter to come in.
'Angie?' she called. There was no reply. She frowned. 'That was the front door, wasn't it?'
'I'll go and see.' Guy pushed back his chair and left the room. The rest of them finished their soup and continued talking. After five minutes had elapsed, Kathy, with a murmured apology, also excused herself.
Annette said in a low voice, 'I hope nothing's wrong.'
'She's probably had a row with her boyfriend,' Charles opined, and laughed.
'It's a difficult age,' Annette agreed, talking, Jessica felt, merely to fill in the increasingly surprising absence of their hosts. 'Our son, who's seventeen, is going through a very moody phase, slouching about with a face like thunder and refusing to answer when called. Usually he resp
onds better to Charles than to me, but at the moment he won't go near him. He even—'
'I gave him a good dressing-down,' Charles interrupted. 'He's only sulking.'
Annette shook her head worriedly. 'No, dear, it's more than that. He—'
'Get too big for their boots, kids these days. Think the whole universe should revolve round them. When I was—'
The door opened suddenly and they all turned towards it. Guy stood there, his face white. 'I'm sorry, everyone, I'm afraid we have a crisis on our hands.'
Jessica said quickly, 'Angie?'
He met her eyes. 'She's been raped,' he said flatly. Then as though speaking the word had finally brought home the fact, he repeated, 'Raped!' and his voice broke.
Matthew and Charles came simultaneously to their feet and everyone exclaimed at once. Guy held up a hand. 'I've phoned the police, and we have to take her there at once; apparently time is of the essence. We're leaving now. Kathy says please will you stay and finish the meal—it's all in the oven.'
'But you don't want us here!' Jessica cried, and again Guy raised his hand.
'On the contrary, we do. William's asleep upstairs: he can't be left, and we don't want to wake him to this. Anyway there's no point in wasting good food.' He tried to smile. 'Seriously, we'd be enormously grateful if you'd stay till we get back.'
'Guy!' Kathy's voice sounded shrilly from the hall.
'I'm coming. Please!' he said to his guests. Then the dining-room door closed, and a moment later the front door too.
'Oh God!' Annette said on a high note. 'Where's this going to end?'
While the examination and tests were being conducted, the Markhams tried to answer Webb's questions.
'Your daughter will be making a statement to the woman police officer,' he said, 'but she must have talked to you on the way here. Please tell me everything she said.' He paused. 'I know how difficult this is for you, but it's possible she might omit something important from her official account, either from forgetfulness or because she's too embarrassed to repeat it. Will you tell me, Mr Markham, exactly what happened when you left your guests to go and find her?'
Pretty Maids All In A Row Page 13
