The Good Wife

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘It was well concealed,’ Henry observed. ‘So perhaps the fear she had once experienced had passed? Perhaps she felt the threat had gone away. Perhaps she also felt that the crowds would protect her. She was with friends in a busy place if someone had threatened her. I would imagine there could be many other locations in which any threat could be carried out, much easier for any attacker than a busy race day.’

  ‘So maybe there is an element of chance here, that she really did not expect to see this person or these persons in the crowd. That’s if these unknown friends – if they were friends – have anything to do with her death at all. She was by all accounts a popular woman with many acquaintances and the two things may be totally unconnected. The timing is not so close as to make that impossible.’

  Henry nodded at his sergeant. That was true. She had left Nora Phillips’ side at about two fifteen and her body had been discovered a little before four o’clock. Allowing for perhaps fifteen minutes to get from where she had left Nora to where her body had been found … ‘Her bag was found at three o’clock, which suggests that it was either dropped, abandoned, or taken from her not long after she left Nora Phillips. But I would also suggest that it could not have been lying around for long. The young couple who spotted it saw it poking up from beneath a bush. There was opportunity for many other people to have seen it and the longer it lay there, the more opportunity that afforded. So my guess, and it is at this stage only a guess, is that she still had her bag for quite some time between two fifteen and close to three o’clock. Unless, of course, her attacker took it from her, searched it, then dumped it because it didn’t contain what he expected. Again, this must have been done before she was killed, and before three o’clock.

  ‘Dr Phillips did not give a very accurate estimation of time of death, but then the body was still warm, the day was warm, and so the body had cooled very little, and he could say nothing apart from speculation that she had died in the previous hour and we know that to have been true. The body temperature had barely dropped.

  ‘The travellers reported seeing the blue car still in place just before four o’clock,’ Henry continued. ‘The man on watch took himself off for a cup of tea at around that time, leaving young Charlie in charge. Charlie had not noticed the car had gone, but … we can probably assume that the car was still there a little before four. A little before the body was discovered. Martha Mason was concealed in the horsebox, but we are pretty sure not killed there. So if the owner of the car came to collect it, it’s likely he either would have seen the killer, or that he is in fact involved. No one has yet come forward?’ He looked at Emory who shook his head.

  ‘Not the blue car, nor the little green van or the man in the blue suit without the hat.’

  ‘So, how does this sound as a timeline of events?’ Henry continued. ‘She leaves her friend Nora Phillips at about two fifteen. She disappeared into the crowd, ostensibly to speak to a friend. She does not pass that same spot again because Nora Phillips was standing there for fifteen minutes. So she must have turned the other way, towards the stands or immediately towards the paddock where her body was found. Now we must assume, I think, that she had her bag until a little before three. Then either she or the killer cast it aside to be found beneath the bushes at around three o’clock.

  ‘By four o’clock she’s dead, the blue car is gone and the body discovered shortly after. The fact that her body was discovered quite quickly implies that people were passing through this area on a fairly frequent basis. A groom noticed the door was open, went to investigate. So again, I doubt her body could have lain there for long. The fairground folk saw nothing out of the ordinary. My betting is that the blue car is relevant to this crime and its position would have helped to shield the attacker from view, as Mickey’s little sketch map demonstrates.’

  ‘And so who has motive?’ Emory ticked them off on his fingers. ‘The father of the child, which may or may not be Mr Harry Benson or Dr Ephraim Phillips. It could be that either one of them wished for her to get rid of the baby and she refused. Their motive could be that she threatened to name them, or that she sought to blackmail. A dead mother and a dead child is an easy solution.’

  ‘And so it is,’ Mickey agreed. ‘Don’t forget there might be a third person in a similar position, as yet unknown to us.’

  ‘Or it could have been someone from her previous life, someone she had evaded and feared enough to keep the gun in her home. Though it seems she no longer kept the gun in her bag – if indeed she ever did. Do we even know if she could fire such a weapon? Do we even know for certain that it was hers? Might it be something she picked up on her travels?’

  ‘Then why conceal it,’ Henry argued. ‘If the gun happened to be some rather unusual souvenir, then surely her husband would have known about it. Such a curiosity might be something she would have shown off to friends. We’ve all remarked that it’s an unusual weapon, so there might well have been a story behind it.’

  ‘Unless of course that story is related to her work for the divorce lawyers or the private investigator. Though even then, her husband should have known, because he knew about her past.’

  ‘He claims to have known about her past.’ Henry seemed suddenly decided. ‘But he’s already disturbed at the thought that she worked in such company and for such a company. Surely he would be even more disturbed if she told him that sometimes she carried a gun, or that her profession required that she did because it could sometimes be dangerous. This casts a different light on things and is suggestive of something more than Martha Mason just being the occasional other woman, for legal purposes.’

  Emory began to pack the evidence away in its box. ‘So which of us is going to talk to Dr Phillips next?’ he asked.

  ‘I think that should be you,’ Henry told him. ‘You are local, knowledgeable of the local community and it would not be strange if you had heard rumours pertaining to the behaviour of Dr Phillips and wish to speak to him privately and confidentially – before the murder detectives from London stuck their claws into the matter.’

  ‘A good thought,’ Mickey approved. ‘And then if he doesn’t oblige you with what you need to know, you can bring him to us.’

  Emory left Henry and Mickey Hitchens going through the witness statements that had started to filter in. Martha Mason’s photograph and the basic facts about her murder had been bruited far and wide and witnesses had begun to come forward who claimed to have seen the woman at various stages of the day. There were a few reports regarding the green van and the blue car and one to do with the man in the blue suit without the hat. It would be time-consuming and probably wasteful of time, but the statements had to be gone through. Mickey split the pile arbitrarily and handed half to his boss.

  Emory had left them and marched out of the police station looking important and heading for Dr Phillips’ house.

  On arriving he was told that the doctor had gone to his surgery and had not yet returned. He was told also that Clive Mason had packed his bags and returned home. When asked why, Nora Phillips had advised him that the doctor thought it was time he opened his surgery again. She was clearly not in full approval of this, but she told Emory that her husband had advised Clive that sympathy would lead to curiosity and curiosity might lead to a rise in numbers of those signing up for his list. In other words, it would be good for business.

  ‘And what do you think of that, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  Nora shrugged and then fluttered her hands nervously. ‘I’m sure the men know best,’ she said, but Emory could hear that her words were empty. Nora was not at all happy about it, any fool could see that. ‘I don’t think Clive is ready. He’s been so battered by events, I would hate to think that he might prescribe the wrong thing, or break down in front of someone. He is a sensitive soul and a genuinely nice man.’

  Emory couldn’t resist. ‘And is your husband a genuinely nice man?’ he asked.

  Nora put a hand to her cheek as though he’d struck her and stare
d in horror at Emory. He fully expected a sharp reprimand and knew he would have deserved it, but instead she just looked very upset. Eventually she shook her head. ‘No, Sergeant Emory, not all of the time he isn’t.’ She stood then and Emory realized he was being dismissed. ‘I must see to the children,’ she said. ‘I’m sure they will be wanting something.’

  Emory made his way to Newark, making use of car and driver seeing as the London detectives had no need for it. He had the driver wait while he cut across the edge of the marketplace, where traders were already packing up for the day.

  He caught Dr Phillips just as he was packing up and preparing to leave. Good timing, Emory thought. Phillips was quite surprised to see him.

  ‘Developments?’ he asked.

  ‘I called at your home. I understand that Dr Mason has left you.’

  ‘It seemed the best. One has to get back on the horse sometime. And he was getting restless.’

  ‘I see. Dr Phillips, I have some questions to ask of you and they are of a very delicate nature so it’s probably best I ask them here. I wanted to speak to you,’ Emory bluffed, ‘before I speak to Chief Inspector Johnstone, as I must do later when I make my report. I wanted to give you the chance to speak to me first, so I could clear the way, if it’s necessary. Smooth the path, as it were.’

  Phillips looked at him sharply, clearly puzzled. ‘Well, out with it man, what’s this about?’

  ‘As you know, we’re making enquiries all about the town. Speaking to all manner of people and all manner of classes, and as you can imagine some things are said that decent people might not choose to remark upon.’

  Phillips was on his guard now. He looked narrowly at Emory. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Naming no names, there are those who wonder if your relationship with the late Mrs Mason was perhaps a little too close. That the two of you were perhaps a little too fond.’

  Phillips’ face was a picture, Emory thought, as he fought for an appropriate reaction. This, he thought, told him far more than Phillips was likely to with words. An innocent of these charges would be furious, would respond immediately, but Dr Phillips was having to think about his response and to consider who knew what and what was mere suspicion and what was common gossip.

  ‘It’s nonsense, of course. Martha was a friend, a good friend. Anyone will tell you that. She and Clive were both good friends. Nora was extremely fond of her, as was I, as were our children … To suggest that there was anything untoward … Frankly I am flabbergasted that you would even mention this. That you would come to me with such nonsense. That you would come all the way out to my practice and lay out such rubbish.’

  He had been packing his bag when Emory arrived and he resumed this now, clearly agitated.

  ‘Well, I thought it polite to come to you first. I could simply have gone to the detectives and told what I’d heard, and by rights that’s exactly what I should have done. I should have spoken to the chief inspector or to his sergeant and made it clear that several individuals had made several similar observations.’

  ‘I suppose the servants have been gossiping.’

  ‘This was not told me from within your household,’ Emory informed him, fudging the issue with half-truths. ‘I wanted to tell you what was said first, give you a chance to reply before the inspector demanded to know the truth. It gives you motive, you see.’

  ‘Motive? What the devil do you mean?’

  ‘Motive because she might have decided to tell your wife you were having an affair, that the child was yours.’

  ‘Damn it, man, that’s libellous. Anybody dares say that in public and I’ll have the lawyers on to them. Martha was nothing more than a friend. Whoever killed her wanted to rob her, nothing more. You’re looking for motives where there are none, reasons where there are none. You go around accusing decent people of … of reprehensible acts. I tell you, Emory, pursue this and you are heading for trouble.’

  Sergeant Emory shrugged mildly. ‘It is my job to investigate, sir. I must report what has been said. If I do not then others will.’

  Phillips was taken aback. ‘Others have heard this nonsense?’

  ‘Whatever constables are available have been making enquiries, house-to-house, you know that. And appealing for witnesses who know anything about Mrs Mason, who might have seen her on the day or indeed know anything that speaks to motive. Everyone seems to agree that she was a good woman, but someone wanted her dead, so you understand my position.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I don’t understand it at all. I don’t understand why you should listen to such rubbish and I don’t understand why you should come in here and threaten me with it.’

  Emory bristled. ‘I’ve made no threat, sir. I’m simply doing my job. And I’m doing it to the best of my ability as I’m sure we all do. I simply came here to give you the opportunity to speak to me, in confidence, lay things out, like. Give you a chance to answer these rumours and accusations before the senior officers get involved and things get really unpleasant for you. But seeing as you don’t want to hear this from me, it seems I have no choice but to—’

  ‘All right.’ Phillips sat down heavily in the captain’s chair set behind the desk. ‘I admit that I was fond. Martha was a bright, beautiful and intelligent woman. I am fond of my wife. Nora is a good mother and, within her own lights, an entertaining enough companion. She is loving and kind but, and you must forgive the way this sounds, she is not the brightest … not the most stimulating of companions. I suppose on occasion, I might – and I do say might – have shown a little more attention to Martha than perhaps was wise. But the fact that people comment on it, the fact that this was always done in company, shows the innocence of it. Surely you can see that.’

  Emory looked sceptical but remained silent.

  ‘And I mean what I say, that they are good friends. Well, Clive continues to be a good friend and Martha will be very much missed by all of us. But to accuse me, to accuse me of having an affair with my friend’s wife, of betraying friendship and marriage and, for that matter, of accusing Martha of doing the same. Why, man, this is beyond the pale.’

  Emory continued to maintain the silence.

  ‘I didn’t even know that she was pregnant.’

  ‘Apparently, neither did her husband.’

  ‘Well then, that just goes to show.’

  ‘Goes to show what, sir? I have to ask you outright: did you have relations with Mrs Mason?’

  Phillips got to his feet and grabbed his bag. ‘Get out of my surgery. Get out now. I won’t hear any more of this.’

  Emory nodded but refused to be rushed. ‘I’m happy to go, sir. But Dr Phillips, it might be as well to bear in mind that I still have my report to make and you still have not definitively answered my question in any satisfactory manner. So it may well be that the inspector or the sergeant or both of them will come over to your house and ask questions again, where your wife and your servants might hear. I’m giving you the opportunity to answer me straight, and to do so in the privacy of your office, not at home or at the police station where there are other ears to hear and other eyes to witness. So I’m giving you one last chance, Dr Phillips, to answer me straight. Did you have extramarital relations with Mrs Mason? Is there a chance that you could be the father of her child?’

  One look at Phillips’ face told him that he wasn’t going to get any kind of answer from the man. ‘Out,’ Phillips roared pointing at the door. ‘Get out and get away from me and my family. You are not welcome. I am a respectable man with connections and you are a mere sergeant.’

  Emory simply shrugged. ‘That’s as maybe, sir,’ he said. ‘But I’m working on an investigation with two detectives come all the way from London, all the way from the murder squad there, and frankly I don’t think they give a damn about you being respectable or connected, begging your pardon, sir. So you may want rid of me, and you may even be rid of me, but I think those two are a very different kettle of fish.’

  He opened the office door and stepped ou
tside, pausing on the landing. ‘Still, I gave you a chance to talk to me private, like, I did all I can, so now I just have to go back and tell the inspector what you said, and what those we have been interviewing have said. No skin off my nose now.’

  He left then, but loitered on the street corner, out of sight of the office door, curious to see what Dr Phillips would do next. In truth Emory was not quite as confident as he sounded. He knew the damage that someone with Phillips’ influence could cause to him and to his career, but as he told Henry and Mickey earlier on, he was not a married man, had no ties and he had ridden out worse storms before. He had a feeling also that Henry Johnstone would protect him as best he might.

  Dr Phillips came storming down the stairs from his office and out of the front door and Emory watched as he glanced left and right but did not actually seem to be seeing anything. He marched across the road and turned back towards the marketplace. Emory followed, slowly wondering where Phillips had parked his car and if he would go straight home. He was therefore a little surprised to find that Phillips paused outside of an ordinary terraced house, glanced nervously about him and then rapped on the door. A woman opened it and Phillips pushed his way inside.

  Interesting, Emory thought as he took note of the address. He would have to make enquiries at the local constabulary and see who lived here.

  ‘He stayed inside for about half an hour,’ Emory told Inspector Johnstone later on that afternoon. ‘I trailed him back to where he parked his car, which was close to his surgery, and then once he’d driven away I went to speak to our colleagues at the Newark constabulary and took a look at the register of voters. There are two people registered to vote at that address, being common owners of the property. A Mr Geoffrey Steiff, aged sixty years and a lady who claims to be his widowed sister, Mrs Regina Edwards, aged fifty-eight, a lady who was a midwife before her marriage and then returned to that work when her husband died. Neither has a criminal record, or has come to the official notice of the police before, but it is interesting that our man went straight there rather than coming home.’