by Simon Brett
“She says it’s the only time she saw Michael Brewer and Janine Buckley together.”
“Then she definitely wasn’t part of our group. Mick and Janine were all over each other all the time.”
That rather confirmed Carole’s image of Libby Pearson as a fringe player, someone who desperately wanted to be at the centre of the action, but was doomed always to remain peripheral.
“Libby also reckons that was the night that Michael Brewer got Janine Buckley pregnant.”
Robert Coleman shrugged. “Could have been. There were plenty of other opportunities, though, the way those two went at it.”
“You still don’t recall the party?”
“ Some vague recollection’s coming back, but not much detail, I’m afraid.”
“Libby said that, when Michael Brewer and Janine went upstairs, you and Marie were already up there.”
“Well, we would have been, in our beds, if it was the middle of the night. And I’d have been fulfilling my duty of preserving my sister’s honour. If our parents were away, then I was in charge. And I knew they’d take a pretty dim view of Marie getting up to anything of a sexual nature. Our mother had strong – even old-fashioned – views on moral issues.”
“And she now lives in France, is that right?” asked Carole.
“Yes. In a home down there. She went back to be near her family after our dad died. She was very ill…I think I told you that she’d had a major breakdown after his death?”
“You did tell me, yes.”
“Well, she’d never really settled in England, although she’d lived here for nearly thirty years, so when she came out of hospital, it made sense for her to go back to near where she was born. She’d got sisters and cousins over there.”
“Near Villeneuve-sur-Lot?”
Gaby confirmed that, and Robert went on, “I think it worked out pretty well for her. She was always going to be quite fragile emotionally, but she was happy to be back in France. She had a nice little house there, and we’d all go out and visit, till she was too feeble to look after herself and went into the home. She’s pretty gaga now, I’m afraid.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Gaby, who had been silent during their previous conversation, now came to life. “She’s frail, but she’s still got all her marbles.”
Robert Coleman shook his head sadly. “You haven’t seen her for nearly a year, Gabs. I’m afraid she’s gone downhill quite a bit.”
“Oh dear. I’ve meant to go and see her. I’ve just been so busy the last few months, particularly since Steve and I announced our engagement. I must get out there soon.”
Carole was about to announce her brilliant plan, which would both salve Gaby’s conscience and ensure her safety, but Robert Coleman spoke first. “I wouldn’t bother, Gabs love. She won’t recognize you.”
So Carole decided the moment wasn’t right. She’d make the suggestion when she could get Gaby on her own.
Once they were through in the club dining room, eating solid British fare, she reverted to the subject of the 1973 party at the house of Robert and Marie’s parents. “This Libby Pearson woman also mentioned a girl called Diana Milton. Does that ring any bells?”
A slightly mischievous smile crossed Robert Coleman’s face. “Now I’d be lying if I denied knowing that name. Right little raver she was.”
“That’s rather what Libby implied.”
“ A year below Marie in school, as I recall. But you’d never have known it. One of those girls who has an instinctive knowledge of her sexuality and what to do with it.” His smile became sheepish. “I’m afraid, Carole, mention of that name has brought back the party of which you speak in full Technicolor detail. Yes – preserving my sister’s honour was not my sole occupation that particular night.”
“Diana Milton?”
He nodded, with that mixture of apology and pride that men usually apply to their sexual conquests. “Yes.”
“But I understood she was at the party with her boyfriend.”
“They had a row. And I – took advantage of the opportunity.” A nostalgic smile. “Diana was…aah. Lost touch, I’m afraid, when I moved away from Worthing. I wonder what happened to her.”
“Probably ended up a dumpy housewife and mother, like every other teenage fantasy figure,” suggested Gaby.
“You’re probably right.” Her uncle chuckled wistfully. “Funny, I hadn’t thought of her for years until you mentioned the name, Carole.”
“I also asked Libby Pearson about Howard.”
“Hm?”
“Well, we’re only talking – what? Less than a year before Marie married Howard? Libby had never heard of him. She certainly had no recollection of him being at that party.”
“Well, no, Howard moved in different circles. He knew us all because he worked with Dad, and we lived above the shop. His thing for Marie was a kind of secret between them, until suddenly it all came out in the open and they got married.” His face scrunched up with the effort of recollection. “I don’t know. Maybe Howard was there.” Another chuckle. “Quite honestly, now you’ve introduced the name of Diana Milton into the conversation, I’m having a bit of difficulty remembering anything else.”
But Carole wanted him to remember other things. “What I find odd about this whole situation…you know, Gaby being stalked by Michael Brewer – ”
“But is it exactly stalking?”
“I don’t know what else you’d call it, Gaby.”
“No,” Robert agreed. “And most of the other descriptions are even less attractive.”
“But what I don’t understand,” Carole went on, “is, if Inspector Pollard is right and Michael Brewer did kill Howard and Bazza, then why?”
“From what I’ve gathered from Pollard, his feeling is that Bazza’s murder was done simply to shut him up. He knew too much about what had happened to Howard.”
Gaby wanted explanations too. “The bit I still don’t get is how Bazza got involved.”
Her uncle grinned ruefully. “I’m afraid that is down to your brother. Your father was stuck at the hotel without means of transport. Phil immediately thought of the one person he knew who could produce a car at short notice. So he rang Bazza.”
“Are you saying that he was in on the plot to kill Dad?”
“No. Pollard thought he must have been. That’s why Phil was pulled in for questioning. The inspector could not imagine that anyone existed in the world whose first thought when a taxi was needed would be to get a friend to steal a car.”
“Ah. Shows he doesn’t know our Phil.”
“No. I’m afraid your brother was never quite the sharpest knife in the drawer. But, anyway, Phil’s off the hook, at least so far as the murder’s concerned. He could still be in trouble over his involvement with Bazza’s car-stealing activities, but I doubt if Pollard’ll bother to pursue that.”
“All right,” said Carole, as though drawing a meeting to order. “We’ve established why Michael Brewer needed to kill Bazza, but I still can’t see what he had against Howard. I can believe he spent thirty years in prison, dreaming of revenge. But why should he take his revenge on Howard Martin? What had Howard ever done to him?”
“Ah.” Robert Coleman was silent for a moment, making a decision. He looked tenderly at Gaby before opting to go ahead. “Gaby, this may not be pleasant to your ears, but I’m afraid it’s something you’re going to have to know some time, and since the topic has come up, I think I may as well tell you now. What I’m about to say doesn’t reflect particularly well on your dad, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was a good man and, in his own way, he loved you very much.”
He allowed himself another silence, before continuing. “As you know, your dad worked for my dad, in a fishmonger’s in Worthing. After he married your mum – and after our dad had died and the business had been sold – Howard and Marie went off to Worcester, where he continued working in the same line. But when he was young, he also had a hobby that was…well, not strictly within th
e law. He had a shotgun, and he liked to go off after rabbits and hares, pheasants too. Some of them might appear in our dad’s shop, though he never knew where they came from.”
“Uncle Robert, are you saying my dad was a poacher?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s no reason to murder anyone.”
“Not in itself, no. Trouble was, Howard used to go shooting on the estate where Mick Brewer worked as a gamekeeper.”
“That’s still no reason – ”
“Wait for it, Gabs. Will you please wait until I’ve finished? The night Mick killed Janine Buckley, your dad was out shooting on the estate. He saw the car being torched.”
“He saw Michael Brewer actually setting fire to it?”
“Don’t know if he was close enough to be sure it was him, Carole. But he saw the fire erupt. And he called the police – anonymously, he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he’d been trespassing for the purpose of poaching. But, Gabs, if your dad hadn’t seen that car go up, it could have been years before the remains were found. Mick had driven it into a very remote part of the estate. He was reckoning it’d be a long time before anyone found the car, and by then getting any forensic detail from the site would have been a lot more difficult.”
Robert Coleman sighed and took a reflective sip from his beer glass. “So you see, that’s why Mick Brewer wanted revenge on poor old Howard. So far as he was concerned, it was your dad who got him convicted.”
“But, Uncle Robert, there’s no logic to that. Dad didn’t know who he was – ”
He silenced her with an upheld hand. “Gabs, if you spend thirty years in prison plotting revenge, I don’t think logic is at the top of your priorities.”
“No. Perhaps not,” she conceded.
“All right,” said Carole. “Let’s accept that as the reason why he targeted Howard, but why’s he after Gaby? She wasn’t even born at the time of his first murder.”
In a hopeless gesture, Robert Coleman put thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes. “I don’t know. Who knows how a mind like his works? Gaby belonged to Howard, maybe that’s all there was to it. Or maybe she represents what he couldn’t have – the child Janine Buckley was carrying when…I’m sorry, I don’t know. All I do know is that Gaby’s in danger.”
He sat back in his chair and Carole suddenly noticed how tired he was looking. Recent events had taken their toll on his sister and niece, but Robert’s own supportive role had also been exhausting. Being the family rock was not an easy job.
“Still,” he said, “it’ll soon all be over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Carole, that Mick Brewer can’t be at large for much longer. The police are closing in on him, they must be.”
“They’ve been looking for him since last October.”
“Not very hard. Someone who missed the odd appointment with his probation officer isn’t worth a lot of manpower. But now they’re really looking for him.”
“In West Sussex?”
“Yes. He’s somewhere down there. Got some hideaway, I’ll put money on that. Don’t worry, they’ll find him.”
“And then he’ll be charged with both murders?” asked Gaby.
“Bound to be. The police have got DNA evidence. He definitely killed your father and Bazza.”
Gaby sighed wearily. “Oh, I can’t wait till they get him. I don’t think I’ll ever relax again, until I know that Michael Brewer is safely back behind bars.”
Her uncle reached across and patted her hand. “Won’t be long. And till then, we need to see that you’re kept somewhere very secure, somewhere where he’d never think of looking for you.”
“But not Fethering,” said Carole.
Robert Coleman grimaced. “No. Not down there again. I didn’t know about that little excursion until after it had happened. I’m afraid, of all the places in the world to go to be away from the attentions of Michael Brewer, Fethering is the last one I’d have chosen.” He looked fondly across the table at his niece. “Maybe you’d be best to come back to Essex with me. Stay with Marie. As I say, the police are keeping an eye on her up there.”
But Gaby shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine in London. I’ve got friends I can stay with.”
Or I’ve got an even better idea, thought Carole.
∨ The Witness at the Wedding ∧
Thirty-One
Like everything else in Robert Coleman’s club, the ladies’ room was severe with no frills. But it was spotlessly clean. As she washed her hands, Carole thought about their host’s abrupt departure. Just as they had reached the foyer from the dining room, he had received a call on his mobile.
Its content was clearly urgent because, with the most perfunctory of farewells, he left the two women alone. Robert Coleman’s anxiety about his niece’s safety seemed to have suddenly evaporated. Though, of course, that could mean that the news he’d had related to the capture of Michael Brewer, which would in turn mean that the threat to Gaby was at an end. Carole, not for the first time in her investigative career, felt deeply frustrated. Why were the police – and by extension, their intimates like Robert Coleman – always so uncommunicative about how their enquiries were progressing?
Gaby came out of a cubicle to join her at the washbasin, and Carole decided the moment had arrived to put forward her plan. “A coincidence that your grandmother’s name came up at lunch.”
“Why? Oh, I do feel terribly guilty about her, you know.”
“I do know. Which is maybe why the coincidence is one that you could turn to your own good.”
Gaby looked at her curiously.
“I was talking to Stephen this morning, when he came to fetch some stuff from his house…”
“Yes?”
“And he’s terribly worried about you.”
“I know.”
“He wants you away from here, away from all your familiar haunts, away from anywhere where that man might be able to find you.”
Tears trickled from Gaby’s eyes. The relentless stress still had a hold on her.
“I suggested you should go to Fran ce.”
“France?”
“To see your grandmother.”
“On my own?”
“No, not on your own. You’d need someone with you for security.” A silence. “Stephen thought it was a very good idea.” A longer silence. “Well, do you think it’s a good idea, Gaby?”
“Yes. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
When Jude told her that Gita Millington had returned to London, Carole could not suppress a feeling of unworthy glee. Jude had anticipated and noted this, but did not comment.
She was quickly brought up to date with developments on the case: Michael Brewer’s appearance in Gaby’s flat the previous night, and Carole’s brainwave as to where the girl should go.
“I agree. A great idea. Because, apart from anything else, if anyone is going to know the whole history of the case, then it’s going to be Gaby’s grandmother. She was around when the whole thing happened.”
“Exactly, Jude.”
“So, what are you planning to do? Drive down to the South of France? Or fly?”
“Flying’ll be quicker.”
“Have you booked a flight?”
“Stephen’s PA has sorted it out. They’re holding two seats for a Gatwick flight to Bordeaux at 7.55 tomorrow morning. But I didn’t want to confirm until I knew the names of the passengers.”
“What?” Jude looked perplexed. “Come on, Carole. You know Gaby’s name. And I assume you know your own.”
“No. I wanted to check first that you’d be willing to go with Gaby.”
“Me?”
“It’s logical. I’m in touch with Stephen and Marie and Robert. You’re not, really. So if anything happens here, I’ll be able to keep in touch with developments. Besides…” said Carole, with one of her hard-nosed moments of self-knowledge, “I think Gaby might be more relaxed with you than she i
s with me.”
“All right.” The bird’s nest of blonde hair quivered with the vigour of Jude’s nod.
“And there’s another thing.”
“What?”
“You speak good French.”
Jude acknowledged this was true.
“Because you told me once that you lived in France for a couple of years.”
“Yes, you’re right. I did. And I’m sure, once I’m actually there, the language will come back.”
Carole had been hoping for more details of her neighbour’s sojourn in France, but as so often happened with Jude, the moment for elaboration was quickly past, and the conversation moved on.
“One small matter, Carole.”
“Yes?”
“Who’s actually paying for this little jaunt?”
“Stephen.”
“Well, it’s logical that he should pay for his fiancée, but – ”
“He’s paying for both of you. Anyway, it’s not just a jaunt for you. You have a job of work to do.”
“As what?”
“Gaby’s minder.”
After their lunch with Robert, Gaby had gone into work for the afternoon, the reasoning being that if Michael Brewer was trying to get at her, he wouldn’t choose to do so in a busy office full of theatrical agents. She found being in her work environment a blessed distraction; arguing with tight-fisted theatre managements brought out her competitive instinct and drove all other thoughts from her mind. At the end of the day she stayed late, her colleagues supporting her with a few glasses of wine, until Stephen came to pick her up. He was her minder overnight in the Fulham house, and he drove her down to check in before seven o’clock at Gatwick’s North Terminal.
Stephen had explained their plans to Inspector Pollard, who approved them. The police effort was concentrated in West Sussex as the noose tightened on Michael Brewer and, so far as he was concerned, the further away Gaby Martin was, the better. He made sure they all had the relevant contact numbers, and gave the expedition his blessing.
Gaby had also phoned the retirement home near Villeneuve-sur-Lot where her grandmother was in residence, and told them she’d be coming to visit. The receptionist she spoke to was delighted at the news because the old lady was not getting any stronger, and she kept talking about her granddaughter and her impending marriage.
