A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1)

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Well, five out of six isn’t a bad score. I’ll collect it tomorrow — or rather, Henry will.’

  In a lull between customers, Kate put her head round the office door. ‘Lana, could I take advantage of your offer to babysit next Thursday?’

  Lana looked up without pausing in her rapid typing. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Thanks so much. Mrs Dane has invited me for dinner.’

  ‘I didn’t know she was a friend of yours,’ Lana said primly, and Kate smiled to herself. Someone else of whom Lana didn’t approve.

  Martin had disappeared and when he returned to the shop at three o’clock Richard was with him. While Martin made a phone call, Richard strolled over to Kate, who was setting out some new stock.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Romilly.’

  ‘Hello.’ She pushed her fingers down in the box, feeling among the crumpled paper and extracting a tissue-wrapped package. ‘Is Martin better? He seemed under the weather this morning.’

  ‘He’s all right. The hair of the dog put him back on his feet.’ Richard watched for a minute or two as she continued to unwrap the china. ‘Do you enjoy working here?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s not very high-powered for one of your abilities.’

  She looked up, unsure whether he was goading her, but as usual his eyes were expressionless. ‘It’s exactly what I need at the moment and I’m very grateful to have it.’

  ‘Till something better turns up.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all. I have the flat, I’m near Josh, and I’m perfectly happy.’

  ‘Still, we don’t want you to get bored playing shop, do we? I have to go to Yorkshire on business shortly. Why not come along?’

  Kate sat back on her heels and looked up at him. The hazel eyes, curiously intent, waited expectantly.

  ‘Josh could stay with your friend for a couple of nights, I’m sure.’

  ‘What about the shop?’

  ‘Martin can cope. Anyway, you don’t have to make a snap decision. Think it over.’ And he strolled away, leaving Kate looking thoughtfully after him.

  Michael was late the next morning. Josh, tired of his drawing, wandered round the office picking things up and getting in the way. Lana didn’t seem ruffled but Kate, busy with the last day of the exhibition, felt guilty at leaving him with her.

  ‘Why don’t you wait upstairs, dear?’ she suggested at last. ‘Daddy must have been delayed.’

  ‘It’s silly, not living with him anymore,’ Josh said rebelliously. Kate felt herself go hot. This was the first time he had questioned the change of circumstance.

  Aware of Lana’s attention, she said carefully, ‘I did explain, darling, about school and Daddy’s job.’

  ‘Other boys live in Shillingham and come on the train every day. Why can’t I do that? I like trains.’

  ‘We can think about it. Now—’

  But Josh was not going to be distracted. ‘When are we going home?’ he persisted. ‘I’ve hardly any toys here and I want to play with my trains.’

  ‘We’ll go and get them now, if you like.’ Michael was standing in the doorway.

  Josh’s face lit up. ‘Can we, Daddy?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. You should have mentioned them last weekend, though. I’d thought of the cinema for today.’

  ‘Can we go to the cinema and then go for my trains?’

  Michael shook his head. ‘Sorry, old chap. There wouldn’t be time.’

  ‘I don’t see—’ Josh began, but Michael’s eyes had gone to the two women. Kate tried to collect herself.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve met my husband, Lana. Michael, Lana Truscott.’

  Michael took her hand with the charm which stood him in such good stead. ‘I’m delighted to meet you. I hear you live enviably surrounded by all manner of animals!’

  Lana laughed, and with a shock Kate realized it was the first time she’d heard her. ‘The country has some compensations.’

  Josh was tugging at Michael’s jacket. ‘Daddy, why do we have to stay here? When are we coming home?’

  ‘You’d better ask Mummy,’ Michael said evenly.

  When they had gone, Kate said defensively, ‘That’s the first time Josh has even hinted at not being settled here.’

  ‘Your husband’s very charming, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Kate answered with unusual bitterness. ‘He could charm the birds out of the trees.’ And she went quickly back to the shop.

  That evening, Michael was waiting with Josh when she went to answer their knock.

  Josh brushed past her and wandered up the stairs and Michael said drily, ‘It’s all right, I’m not coming in. I just wanted to tell you no more was said about going home. He was only playing you up.’ He paused. ‘I thought you might have been worrying about it.’

  ‘Yes, I was. Thank you.’

  Michael glanced at her and then away down the length of Monks’ Walk. ‘You’ve been here a month now. Any nearer reaching a decision?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He straightened and turned to the car. ‘I don’t think much of your boss, by the way.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The one you went waltzing off with last Sunday. He stared right through me this morning.’

  ‘He probably didn’t recognize you.’

  Michael snorted and, grinding his cigarette under his heel, got into the car. After a moment Kate closed the door.

  Kate and Josh spent their Sunday morning exploring Broadminster, and as Lana opened the mail the next morning, Kate told her of their latest discoveries.

  ‘We came back across the Green,’ she finished. ‘There was a group of Japanese setting up their cameras to photograph Monks’ Walk. I felt quite proud to be living here!’

  Lana looked up quickly. ‘Did you happen to notice anyone on those seats?’

  ‘On the Green? No, why?’

  ‘Oh, it — doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Lana, what is it?’

  ‘Just that there’s a man who spends a lot of time there. I wondered if you’d seen him, that’s all.’

  ‘What kind of man?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. I only noticed him because not many people sit alone. Not of his age, anyway.’

  ‘Which is?’

  She shrugged. ‘Thirties, I suppose. Forget it, Kate. It just struck me that from where he sat, he’d have a good view of this building.’

  ‘And the rest of Monks’ Walk, presumably.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’m being silly.’

  ‘Which seat is it?’ Kate asked after a moment.

  ‘Just the other side of the pathway. The wall curves round and it’s angled so that it faces this way.’

  Kate went through the shop and out into the street. At this time in the morning only one of the seats was occupied, that which Lana had described. The man sitting there was obscured behind the newspaper he was reading. All she could see above and below it was a shock of dark hair and a pair of faded jeans. She hesitated, wondering whether to go closer, but an elderly man had stopped beside her with a shy smile.

  ‘Good morning. Are you open, or am I too early?’ And she had no option but to go with him back into the shop.

  ‘Black hair and faded jeans?’ Kate asked briefly, when she was free to return to the office.

  ‘I beg your pardon? Oh, yes. Yes, that’s right. Is he there again?’

  ‘He was when I looked. When did you first see him?’

  ‘About a week ago. Kate, I’m sorry if I worried you. It was just what it said in the paper, that houses may be watched to see who lives there, their movements and so on.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate. When next she looked, the seat was empty and she felt relief. It was probably nothing anyway.

  The shop seemed bare without the paintings and Kate spent some time that week rearranging displays in the additional space. Though she kept glancing at the seat on the Green, she did not see the
man in jeans again. This reassured her, till she wondered if he now had all the information he needed.

  On the evening of the dinner party, Lana was at the flat by seven-fifteen. Kate watched with amused affection as she drew off her gloves and slipped them in her pocket. Catching Lana’s eye, she said with a smile, ‘When I was little, I was told it was ladylike to wear gloves, but I never think of them unless there are six inches of snow outside.’

  Lana said defensively, ‘I read the paper on the bus and they keep the print off my hands.’ A flush coloured her cheeks. ‘But that’s not why I wear them,’ she added quietly. ‘You’ll think it silly, no doubt, but it’s to hide the fact that I haven’t a wedding ring.’

  ‘Oh, Lana!’ Kate said softly, ashamed of her previous amusement.

  ‘I know, I know. In this day and age, career women, and so on. That’s all very well if you’re confident and attractive and it’s obvious you’re unmarried from choice. But that,’ she ended with a tight little smile, ‘hardly applies to me.’

  At a loss for words, Kate touched her arm sympathetically and took her up to see Josh. ‘Here’s Miss Truscott now. You’ll be a good boy, won’t you, and not give her any trouble.’

  ‘What a nice room,’ Lana said easily. ‘I wish I had a skylight. Look, you can see the stars through it.’

  Josh glanced up without much interest. ‘Sometimes the moon shines on my face and wakes me up.’

  ‘I know a story about the moon. Would you like to hear it?’

  He eyed her warily. ‘There aren’t any fairies in it, are there?’

  Lana laughed. ‘Not one, I promise.’

  ‘All right, then.’

  She sat down on the bed and Kate turned to the door. ‘Your bus goes at ten-thirty, doesn’t it? I’ll be back in good time — and thanks again for coming.’

  The Danes lived less than five minutes away and Kate had only to follow the curve of Monks’ Walk to the section near the school. The house was of weathered brick with the square sash windows of the Georgian period, boldly outlined in white paint. A short path led to the front door, which was set in a recess. Kate could hear voices in the hall and the door opened as she touched the bell.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ Henry Dane said heartily. ‘You’ve all arrived together — splendid!’

  Madge and Paul were just removing their coats and Sylvia came bustling up, exclaiming perfunctorily over the small box of chocolates which Kate handed her. ‘Take them in, Henry, and pour drinks while I put something in the oven. I shan’t be a moment.’

  The sitting room ran from the front to the back of the house. The walls were a soft duck-egg blue and the carpet, deep and shaggy, only a shade darker. At the far end, glass doors led to a loggia, where Kate could see an easel.

  ‘Sylvia’s studio,’ Henry confirmed, noting her glance. ‘The north light and all that, but it cost a bomb to have it double-glazed to use in winter.’

  As they settled down, Kate surreptitiously studied her hosts. Henry looked to be in his mid-fifties, balding, bespectacled, with the air of benign absentmindedness often seen in academics. His wife couldn’t have been more than ten years younger, but time and cosmetics had treated her kindly and as an artist she knew which colours most became her.

  ‘Cigarette, Kate?’

  Sylvia leant forward with a silver box and the lamplight fell on her soft hair. Kate shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Good girl,’ said her hostess complacently, lighting one herself. ‘I keep telling myself I’ll give them up, but I never do.’

  Henry, sitting beside Kate, asked about her work, carefully avoiding any reference to her marriage. Kate wondered what Madge had told them.

  ‘Your son shows an admirable grasp of algebra,’ Henry was saying. ‘I’m recommending he moves into the top set next term.’

  ‘No shop, Henry, for God’s sake!’ Sylvia said impatiently.

  ‘But I’m interested,’ Kate defended him. ‘I was wondering how Josh was settling down.’

  ‘Admirably, I’d say, but there’s an open evening at half term when you’ll be meeting the staff. I’m sure you’ll find you have no problems.’

  ‘That’s a relief, I must say!’ Kate turned smilingly to Paul, but he wasn’t listening. He was staring across at Sylvia, and, following his gaze, Kate was in time to see her smile and give an almost imperceptible nod. Instinctively Kate looked at Madge, but she was bending to stroke a small cat that arched against her legs. Beside her, Henry was still bumbling on about maths. It seemed only she had witnessed that oddly significant exchange, and Kate was relieved when it was time to go through to dinner.

  ‘Have you been to Heatherton lately?’ Madge was asking as Sylvia passed her the vegetables. ‘Faversham’s have a new branch there. Kate and I went last week. In fact, it was there that we heard of the latest murder, and when we got home, we found Paul had actually been at the scene of the crime.’

  ‘So I believe,’ Sylvia said. ‘It must have been quite a shock.’

  Madge looked at her in surprise. ‘You’d heard?’

  ‘Er — yes, I—’

  ‘Of course, Henry’d have told you. It must have been all round school.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Sylvia confirmed smoothly, and it was Kate who, not quite knowing why, breathed a small sigh of relief.

  Over coffee in the sitting room, the talk was of poetry, a great interest of Henry’s. ‘It appeals to the mathematical brain,’ he announced with heavy humour. ‘I suppose you two young ladies have never heard of Hubert Rance?’

  ‘I have,’ Kate declared. ‘He’s one of the few modern poets I enjoy.’

  ‘Is that so? And did you know he was a St Benedict’s boy? In my form at one stage. I have an autographed book upstairs. I’ll look it out before you go. You might like to borrow it.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Kate said sincerely, ‘and as a matter of fact I really should be going now. I don’t want to break up the party, but Lana Truscott is babysitting and she has to catch the last bus home.’

  ‘So soon?’ Sylvia protested.

  ‘In that case, I’ll see if I can lay my hands on that book,’ Henry said. As he left the room, Sylvia also rose. ‘If no one wants more coffee, I’ll clear it away.’ She lifted the tray. ‘Will you open the kitchen door for me, Paul?’

  They went out together and Madge and Kate exchanged a smile.

  ‘Enjoy yourself?’ Madge asked.

  ‘Very much. It was kind of them to invite me.’ She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I really must go, though. I’ll tell Henry not to bother about the book.’

  She went into the hall, intending to call to him. On her right the kitchen door stood open and instinctively Kate glanced inside. Paul and Sylvia were standing close together, talking in low voices. Her hand was on his arm and his head bent attentively toward her. Though Kate hadn’t made a sound, they turned at the same moment and moved swiftly apart. Sylvia came quickly to the door.

  ‘You really have to go, Kate? What a shame. It’s been lovely to see you.’

  Kate glanced at Paul. He was watching her anxiously and gave a rather forced smile. She said clearly, ‘Thank you so much. I have enjoyed it. Will you tell Henry—’

  But Henry was coming heavily down the stairs. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t seem to find it. I’ll dig it out for you and drop it in sometime.’

  More thanks, more good nights, and the door opened to the cool October night. Paul suggested walking back with her, but Kate declined the offer. At that moment even the skinheads were preferable to a five-minute walk with Paul. But she was fortunate. She saw no one on the brief journey and, as she let herself into the flat, pushed all conflicting thoughts aside and went up the stairs to relieve Lana.

  CHAPTER 13

  I had to take them out again. I try not to, because of their effect on me — sweating, twitching, shaking. And — other things.

  There’s a pile of cuttings now. By the time I’d read them, I could hardly breathe. Yet I
’m calm enough when it matters. Like a surgeon cutting out a cancer.

  Which is what they are, these women. No loyalty, no morals, only self-indulgence. Like Sandra, and Christine, and — no, don’t think that.

  Michael Romilly. Quite a coincidence, when he writes so much about me. Does he guess we’ve met?

  I’ve decided who’ll be the next one.

  My hands aren’t shaking anymore. I must put the cuttings away.

  CHAPTER 14

  Paul’s unaccountable behaviour filled Kate’s thoughts the next morning and she didn’t care for the direction they were taking. She was still brooding about it when she went out at lunchtime, and only realized Martin was behind her when he caught her arm.

  ‘Hey, wait for me! You are in a brown study this morning!’

  She forced a smile. ‘Sorry, did you want me?’

  ‘Just wondered what you were doing for lunch?’

  ‘I’ll have a sandwich when I get back. I’ve a lot of shopping—’

  ‘Nonsense, you can’t keep going on a sandwich. Come and eat with me.’

  Despite her shopping list, Kate was easily persuaded, glad of the chance to be distracted from her worries. Martin took her to the Coach and Horses, where they’d lunched her first day at Pennyfarthings. Now, in mid-October, a fire was burning, its red gleam reflected in the horse brasses that framed the brick hearth.

  They were halfway through their meal and Kate was pleasantly relaxed when the door opened with a rush of cold air and four men came in. One of them, large and red-faced, glanced in their direction, hesitated, and came over.

  ‘Cheers, Martin old lad. Had your fingerprints taken?’

  ‘Hi, Bill.’

  ‘Thought I might have seen you at the nick, “helping with inquiries.” How did it go?’

  Kate glanced inquiringly at Martin and was startled to see the colour drain from his face. He said jerkily, ‘I don’t know what you mean, but my food’s getting cold, so if you don’t mind—’

  ‘You owned up, surely? It’d be pretty damn risky not to.’

  Martin moistened his lips. ‘Bill, I told you. I haven’t the faintest idea—’