'To Gilly's? Yes, we did.’
Zoe's eyes widened. 'You still went? But I thought he wasn't expected to live?'
'He's pulled through. I'm thankful to say, and Gilly was most anxious the dinner should go ahead. In the circumstances it was quite a pleasant evening.'
Though Patrick remained as distant as ever, she thought despairingly, and when there'd be another chance for Gilly to observe him, goodness knew.
Hannah had carried a drinks tray out to the garden and put the wine bottle in its cooler under the trees. The garden was communal to all the flats, but though everyone contributed to its maintenance, few residents made use of it.
Hannah was an exception, and often strolled there when she returned from school, glad of its open spaces after the confinement of the classroom, and watching indulgently as her cat chased imaginary mice through the undergrowth or ran up the boles of the trees.
This evening, she was hoping that the informal start would ease any constraint the four of them might feel after Gwen's long absence. The initial meeting between them had gone well, and Gwen, who'd seemed a little tense on arrival, had visibly relaxed.
Hannah glanced over to where she stood chatting with Monica Latimer. The contrast between the two women was almost comical: Gwen was her usual untidy self, spraying hairpins in all directions as her French pleat rapidly came undone. Her indifference to clothes was manifest in the print dress which hung awkwardly on her gawky frame, and she'd slung a knobbly, home-knitted cardigan round her shoulders.
Monica, on the other hand, was as always not only beautifully dressed but groomed to perfection, this evening in apricot linen which set off her fair, greying hair. But then she'd every incentive to dress well; born Monica Tovey, since her father's death she had run the prestigious fashion store Randall Tovey with formidable efficiency tempered by a natural charm. In her hands it had risen to new heights and become known both nationally and internationally, a fame undreamt of by her grandfather, who had founded it.
'A penny for them,' Dilys said, holding out her glass to be refilled.
Hannah smiled. 'I was thinking how different we all are,' she admitted.
Dilys followed the direction of her glance. 'Dear Gwen,' she said, 'she's not changed that much, after all.'
The meal, served in Hannah's pretty dining-room, had gone well, and now the four of them sat over coffee, the room lit only by the flickering candles on the table. The window was open to the darkening garden, and the night calls of birds reached them clearly.
'This is where Gwen says something like, "East, west, home's best!"' Dilys commented.
Gwen smiled and ducked her head.
'You are glad to be back, aren't you?' Dilys persisted.
'Yes – yes, of course.'
'But –?' prompted Monica.
'Oh, I don't know. I was away for nearly a year, after all. Time to get into a completely different way of things. I'm having to ease myself back.'
'You really liked it out there, didn't you, Gwen?' Hannah said quietly, topping up her coffee cup.
'Yes; and the strange thing is, in Canada I seemed to fit in immediately. It's now I'm home again that the adjusting has to start.'
'Would you like to go back?'
Gwen didn't reply at once. Her eyes were on the silver spoon as she stirred her coffee, and the rest of them sat in silence, watching her and waiting. Then she seemed to reach a decision and looked up.
'I hadn't meant to say anything, but you three are my closest friends. I know I can count on you treating this as confidential.'
They all nodded solemnly, and Hannah felt a twinge of unease, wondering what was coming.
'The fact is that I was offered a post out there.'
Her words, totally unexpected, dropped into the quiet room with the impact of a thunderbolt. Dilys and Monica instinctively turned to Hannah who, after all, would be the one most affected.
Gwen met her eyes. 'Forgive me – I shouldn't have said anything. I should have spoken to you first.'
Hannah moistened her lips. 'You mean you're seriously considering it?'
'Considering it, yes, but I haven't reached any decision. I want to get the new term under way and see if my feelings for Canada abate a bit.'
'Is this position at the school where you were?' Monica asked.
'Yes, the present head is leaving in a year's time. Of course, it's a challenge. It's a much larger school than Ashbourne, and I really don't know whether I could do it. Or whether I want to,' she added as an afterthought. 'After all, there's Mother to consider.'
Hannah was aware of mixed feelings. Only a couple of days ago she'd been resenting handing back the reins to Gwen. Now there was a possibility of retaining them permanently. Would she be offered the post if Gwen decided to go? It would depend on the Board of Governors. The post would be advertised; suppose they chose someone else over her? Could she bear to stay on? Also, she was fond of Gwen, and would miss her if she left permanently.
Gwen said softly, 'You sensed I was holding something back, didn't you, Hannah?'
'I did wonder,' Hannah admitted.
'Would you take on Ashbourne if you were offered it?'
Hannah gave a little laugh and spread her hands. 'Not so fast! You spring this on me, then expect an immediate statement of intent. There are any number of things to consider.'
'Well, your ability isn't one of them,' Gwen said flatly. 'You could do it standing on your head.'
There was a short, uncomfortable pause. Then Dilys said, 'It's almost ten o'clock; do you think we could watch the news? I want to see if there's anything new on the local murder; since hearing Mace's talk I've been following it, and the attack on him makes it look as though he's on to something. Thank God he wasn't more seriously hurt.'
They went through to the sitting-room and Hannah switched on the set. After the national headlines came the announcement that a man was being held in connection with Judd's murder, and the scene switched to outside Ashmartin Police Station, where the crime reporter awaited his cue.
'The arrest of the man, who has not been named, came after the attack on criminologist and writer Frederick Mace, but as yet the police have not made any statement linking him with it. Meanwhile, speculation is still continuing that the Judd case might be connected with the death of Trevor Philpott six years ago.' Photographs of the two victims appeared to one side of the screen. 'The bodies of both men were found in public-house car parks, some thirty miles apart. This is Steve Potter in Ashmartin returning you to the studio.'
'I knew Trevor Philpott,' Monica remarked, and the other three turned to her, all exclaiming at once.
'You never told me!'
'What was he like?'
'How did you meet him?'
She shook her head laughingly. 'Don't get excited, I don't mean socially, but he came into the store quite regularly.'
'With his wife, you mean?' Randall Tovey didn’t cater for men.
'No, to buy presents. Underwear, jewellery, the occasional handbag or silk scarf.'
'No wonder it was such a happy marriage!'
Monica said consideringly, 'Actually, we didn't quite believe those reports. For one thing, the underwear he bought was in several different sizes!'
'Did you tell the police,' Dilys demanded, 'after he was killed?'
'No, of course I didn't. His poor wife was going through enough without that. Anyway, the garments could have been for his sisters.'
'But Monica' – Hannah leant forward urgently – 'the police were looking for motives and couldn't find any. The story was that Philpott hadn't an enemy in the world, but if he was involved with other women, that would open up a whole new perspective.'
Monica looked troubled. 'I never thought of that, and after all, it was flimsy evidence at best.'
'Nevertheless, if I were you, I'd get on to them in the morning. It's not too late, the case is still open.'
'Just think,' Dilys said, wide-eyed, 'you might have been holding vital eviden
ce!'
'Or withholding it,' Hannah added sternly.
'Goodness, you're making me feel like a criminal myself. All right, if you think I should. I'll phone the police in the morning.'
And I, thought Hannah, will phone one of them tonight.
In the flat on the floor above, Webb had set up his easel. Baring had been charged with evading arrest, but they couldn't hold him much longer without something considerably more substantial. Yet damn it, if he did kill Simon Judd, and the odds were that he had, there must be something that would incriminate him.
Webb began to sketch the man as he had seen him across the table – close-set eyes, ragged haircut, in need of a shave. Given that, as old Mace postulated, Baring had never met Judd, why had he killed him? The all-important motive factor still eluded them.
Webb held his thoughts determinedly at bay as he sketched, aware that in the past his unconscious had picked up clues he had not registered until they came out in his drawings. Concentrate, then, on Baring's character and see what comes through. The expression on the pencilled face became clearer as he drew – surly, aggrieved, self-righteous.
So what had struck him most about the man? Bitter resentment, Webb thought, feeling his way; that's what had really come through, together with a conviction that he'd been wrongly accused and falsely imprisoned.
Though a familiar ploy when first arrested, by the time a man had served his time, such claims had usually been discarded. Not in Baring's case: he had nurtured his sense of grievance throughout his prison term, and three years later it was as strong as ever.
So who did he hold to blame? The police? Someone who had fingered him? The judge at his trial? The jury who'd found him guilty?
Hang on a minute! Webb felt a quickening of interest. What was it old Mace had said? 'A long-distance wrong'? Suppose Simon Judd had been on that jury?
He sat back, staring at the bleak face he'd depicted. Suppose Baring really had been innocent, and that Judd had somehow been involved in convicting him? It would fit Mace's 'long-distance wrong' theory. On the other hand, he presumably wasn't hunting down the remaining eleven jurors – why had he picked on Judd?
Webb pushed back his stool and went to pour himself a drink, turning the possibility over in his mind. If that had been the case, Judd was unlikely to have recognized Baring's voice after so long, if, indeed, he'd ever heard him say more than a few words. The name he probably would have known, but that given on the phone was Jim Fairlie. What about the man's appearance? It was over three years since Judd had seen him, and probably never close at hand. He might have looked vaguely familiar, but no more than that.
Yes, Webb thought, excitement moving in him, it fitted. In the morning he'd get on to the Chief Clerk at Court and get him to look up Baring's trial, see if Judd had been on the jury. It was a long shot, but it had potential.
The phone rang and he lifted it, his mind still pursuing this new avenue.
'David?' Hannah's voice.
'Hello there.'
'I've just had Les Girls to supper.' That was Webb's name for them. 'Monica says Trevor Philpott was always in and out of the store, buying jewellery and underwear. In different sizes'. Could that be important?'
'It could be a back-up, certainly.'
'Back-up?' She sounded disappointed.
'Your friend Mace again; he's heard that Philpott probably had a number of affairs.'
Hannah said a trifle tartly, 'I'm beginning to wonder what you'd do without Frederick Mace.'
'Actually, we're not managing so badly under our own steam,' Webb returned, his eyes on the face propped on the easel.
'I'm glad to hear it. Anyway, I persuaded Monica to phone the police in the morning.'
'Well done. At least it would be corroborative evidence, which we're somewhat short of. Why didn't she report it at the time?'
'Thought his wife had enough trouble and didn't like to speak ill of the dead. It never occurred to her it might provide a motive.'
No doubt others had kept quiet for the same reason, Webb thought resignedly, which was why the murderer had had a clear field for so long.
'Thanks for letting me know,' he said. 'I presume your guests have gone?'
'Yes.' She hesitated, tempted to tell him of Gwen's Canadian offer, but bound by her promise of silence.
'Sleep well, then,' he said.
'And you.'
Feeling suddenly rather flat, Hannah hung up the phone and began to prepare for bed.
11
By ten o'clock the next morning, Webb had ascertained that not only was Judd on the jury which convicted Baring, but he had been its foreman.
'So much for Chummie denying all knowledge of him,' he said with satisfaction.
'You still have to place him at the scene, though,' Crombie reminded him.
'He won't hold out much longer. Something's bound to come up.'
And it did, by means of a phone call from Good.
'We've got him, Dave!' he crowed exultantly. 'Nailed him fair and square! Forensic have come up with one of his hairs on Judd's jacket. He can't wriggle out of this one.'
'Excellent!' Webb exclaimed. 'Just what we need. And I've some good news, too; I've come up with a motive.'
He outlined what he had discovered, and Good was jubilant. 'Well done, Dave. So the old boy was right on that one. Wonder if he'll point us to Philpott's killer?'
'He's already given us some ammo. Have you heard any more from Ted Ferris?'
'No, but he said he'd get straight on to it. How soon can you get over here? We can only hold Baring another couple of hours without charging him.'
'I'll be with you in thirty minutes,' Webb said.
He stood up, sweeping his papers back into a file.
'Progress?' Crombie inquired, looking up from his desk.
'Let's hope so; one of Baring's hairs has been found on Judd's jacket. Trouble is, if he sticks to his stolen car story, he could argue Judd must have picked up the hair from the passenger seat, which wouldn't get us much further. Still, we'll face that if and when it comes.'
Paul Blake put his head round the door and Frederick laid down his newspaper with a smile.
'My dear chap, good of you to come.'
Blake handed him a box of the hard-centred plain chocolates which were the old man's favourites. 'I've been keeping in touch with your wife, but I didn't want to intrude too soon.'
'She said you'd rung. I'm glad to see you, Paul. For one thing. I've been worrying about you.'
'Worrying?'
'I mentioned you, you see, in the course of my talk. Oh, not by name, but that I had a researcher. Anyone really interested could make inquiries. Since our friend can't get at me now, he might have a go at you.'
'I'll watch my back, never fear. You've heard they're holding someone for Judd's murder?'
'I've just been reading about it. It'll be interesting to see if my theory's vindicated.'
'Too bad they can't charge him with the Feathers case, while they're at it.'
Frederick shook his head, then winced slightly. 'He's not guilty of that one, Paul – believe me. But the race is on now. Will we find Philpott's killer first, or will the police?'
Blake looked at him despairingly. 'Aren't you satisfied with one knock on the head?'
'That's why they're hanging on to me, damn it. I'm quite well enough to go home, but they won't hear of it. Which is why I'm concerned about you.'
'I'm anonymous enough; no one's seen me on TV or giving talks in public.'
'You think my attacker could have been at the library?' Frederick sounded startled.
'Not necessarily; you were fully reported in the press.'
'But if he was, and he was still here the next evening for the break-in and to bash me over the head, it points to his being a local man – Judd's killer rather than Philpott's.'
'It's hardly a Sabbath day's journey from here to Oxbury,' Paul pointed out.
'True.' Frederick brightened. 'Lucky, anyway, that my no
tes were under lock and key, though to be honest they wouldn't have been much help to him. So far, we've only scratched the surface, but now that I'm feeling so much better, I intend to occupy my time more productively.
'Which reminds me: I've rung home a couple of times to ask Edwina to bring in my notebooks when she comes, but there's no reply and the answerphone's not on. Could you possibly pop round and, if no one's in, drop a note to that effect through the letterbox?'
'Of course.'
Frederick shot the younger man a look under his eyebrows. 'After which, I presume you'll be on your way back to Oxbury?'
'No, actually, I thought I'd avoid it for a while. Things will be hotting up once news of Philpott's reputed affairs breaks, and I don't want to tread on police toes.'
'But now's just the time to go, man, while we have the advantage! People speak freely in a bar, but they button up when the boys in blue arrive.'
To Frederick's surprise, Paul didn't meet his eyes. 'I'm sorry, sir, but I've rather a lot on at the moment. I'll see if I can fit it in next week.'
Frederick was considerably taken aback; this was the first time Paul had failed to fall in with one of his suggestions, and he found he did not appreciate it.
'By next week,' he said stiffly, 'any advantage we might have will have been lost.'
'I'm sorry,' Paul said baldly.
'Very well; I realize you have other things to do. I mustn't keep you.'
And Blake, rightly taking it as a dismissal, had gone, leaving the uncomfortable atmosphere behind him.
Damn! Frederick thought impotently. Damn, damn, damn! What had caused that sudden digging-in of heels? Had Frederick been taking him too much for granted? After all, as he'd just allowed, the man had other jobs besides working for him – a fact he tended to forget.
But he'd had the distinct impression it was that particular request Paul had balked at, that for some reason he was reluctant to go back to Oxbury. In God's name, why?
If only he weren't so dependent on others! Frederick fumed in an excess of frustration. If only he could get out of this place and see to things himself, he was sure he could come up with something.
The Ten Commandments Page 14
