The Lily-White Boys

by Anthea Fraser

  Oxbury; thirty-three miles due west of Shillingham. If he could catch Dave before he left the Marlton area, it would be quicker to go cross-country from there.

  ‘Will you be home all day, ma’am?’

  ‘I can arrange to be, yes.’

  ‘Then either DCI Webb or I will be out to see you. Thank you very much for calling.’

  Crombie replaced the phone and immediately lifted it again. An aunt; now there was a turn-up for the books.

  The car-phone rang as they were re-entering Marlton and Jackson was looking out for a pub in which to have lunch. There was a nice-looking one on the opposite corner and he slowed down, waiting till the Governor had finished his call.

  ‘Well, there’s a thing, Ken!’ Webb commented then. The Whites have some relatives after all: an uncle and aunt living in Oxbury. They just phoned in.’

  ‘Took their time, didn’t they? It was in the papers Wednesday evening.’

  ‘We’ll find out why when we see them. OK,’ he added, as Jackson opened his mouth, ‘we’ll eat first, and that place over there will fit the bill nicely.’

  ‘Fair clocking up the miles today, aren’t we?’ Jackson commented, driving round to the car park behind the pub.

  ‘Just the day for seeing a bit of the countryside.’

  They had their lunch in the little back garden under a gaily striped umbrella. Friday was market day, and the pub was quite busy.

  ‘Old Trubshaw was very definite there were no relations,’ Webb said through his ham sandwich. ‘My guess is they didn’t keep in touch with the twins, so I don’t suppose they’ll be much help. Still, anything we can find out about their background will be a bonus.’

  Half an hour later they were on the road again, and still the sun shone. Webb loosened his tie and wound down the car window, resting his arm on the frame and gazing out at the rich fields and the trees with their summer foliage silvered by the wind. For the first time in years he allowed himself to think back to his childhood and the market garden his parents had owned. They’d expected him to go in with them when he left school, but instead he’d run away from home and joined the police. There were good enough reasons for his leaving, but he didn’t want to dwell on them now. In any case, he had no regrets. He enjoyed his work, though he remained a countryman at heart.

  The little market town of Oxbury lay just ahead of them, nestling in a curve of the river. Its main claim to fame was Greystones College, one of two boys’ public schools in the county.

  ‘River Close, you said, Guv?’ Jackson turned down towards the water. ‘Remember walking along here with that young lad from the College?’

  ‘Yep. The nursery rhymes case. Nasty one that.’ He sighed, still entangled with memories. ‘Come to that, they’re all nasty.’

  River Close was in fact set well above the water, which it overlooked. It consisted of a few thatched cottages, pretty enough in their vivid gardens, with pale-starred clematis frothing over walls and wisteria swathed round doorways. However, Jackson, being of a practical turn of mind, bet they still had privies at the back, and wouldn’t have swapped one for his cosy little semi.

  No. 2 had a slightly shabby look; the roof was in need of re-thatching and the paintwork round the windows was flaked and dirty. They walked up the path and rang the bell. The woman who opened the door looked pale and down-trodden. Her limp hair hung lifelessly round her face and she wore a faded print dress and scuffed sandals. Very different from the elegant Mrs Badderley at The Heronry.

  ‘Mrs Hargreaves? Chief Inspector Webb and Sergeant Jackson, Shillingham CID.’

  She nodded and stood aside and they walked into the small, dark hall and thence, at her direction, into the front room with its brick chimney-breast and diamond-paned windows.

  ‘You’ll wonder why I didn’t phone earlier,’ she began defensively, ‘but Roddie said it was none of our business and I should let it go.’ She surveyed them helplessly, twisting her hands together. ‘But I couldn’t. After all, they were my sister’s boys and they’d lived with us for eight years.’

  Webb raised his eyebrows. ‘We were told they’d been brought up in an orphanage.’

  She looked indignant. ‘They never were! They came to us when they were seven; their parents were killed in a coach crash coming home from holiday. And it was never easy, Inspector, that I must say. We’ve a girl and boy of our own, and the twins were always ganging up on them. Every day there was an upset of some kind or other.’

  Small wonder, Webb reflected, with two adults and four children in a cottage this size.

  Since they’d still not been invited to sit, he took the initiative and lowered himself cautiously on to a cane-bottomed chair in need of repair. Jackson, after a moment s hesitation, perched gingerly on the edge of the sofa. Their hostess remained standing, eyeing them apprehensively.

  ‘So they left about five years ago?’

  ‘It must be going on for that. They were getting to be a real worry, staying out all night and bringing boys we didn’t like to the house.’

  ‘They’d have still been at school then?’

  ‘And that was another thing,’ she said plaintively. ‘The man from County Court was always on at us about them not showing up. How were we supposed to know? They left home at half-eight every morning and came back at four. Of course we thought they were at school.’

  ‘Was leaving their idea, or did you turn them out?’

  She looked uncomfortable. ‘Half and half, you might say. Roddie’s not a patient man, and they’d been getting him down for a while. Then one night they came home late and brought some of their gang with them. We were in bed, and they started playing records and shouting and laughing. So Roddie went down and found them smoking pot. Well, he went spare. Threw their mates out of the house, and ranted and raved at them, threatening all sorts. In the end I put on my dressing-gown and went to try and calm things down, but the drugs were the last straw. Roddie was frightened, see, that our own two might be tempted. I don’t remember who first said about getting out, but the twins went next morning, taking their belongings with them.’

  ‘They were only fifteen,’ Webb said. ‘Didn’t you report them missing, or try to find out where they were?’

  Avoiding his eyes, she shook her head. ‘We didn’t want them back, you see. Roddie said we were well shot of them.’

  ‘You never heard anything more of them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you can’t give me any idea who they spent their time with? Any friends or enemies they might have made?’

  ‘They didn’t have friends, not the way our two did. They didn’t need anyone but each other. As to enemies –’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Other football fans, I suppose. Even when they were little, they were football-mad.’

  Webb said casually, ‘What did you and your husband do on Monday evening, Mrs Hargreaves?’

  ‘Monday? Same as always. I watched Coronation Street while I did the ironing and Roddie went to the pub.’

  ‘What time did he get back?’

  ‘Just after closing time.’

  ‘Has he a car?’

  She looked at him worriedly, aware that his interest had now switched to her husband but not knowing why. ‘He never takes it when he goes drinking – doesn’t want the police breathing down his neck.’ She stopped, remembering who her visitors were. ‘Anyway,’ she added hastily, ‘there’s no need. The Stag’s only up the lane.’

  ‘He wasn’t later home than usual last Monday?’

  ‘No.’ Her eyes widened as the penny finally dropped. ‘You’re never thinking Roddie had anything to do with it? The murder? He might have a quick temper, Inspector, but he’d never hurt the boys. After all, they were family.’

  Nevertheless, Webb made a note to have Hargreaves interviewed. Suppose the twins had tried to re-establish contact, and he couldn’t face the possibility of becoming embroiled with them again? Especially now his own children had reached an age more likely to be susceptible to drug-push
ers. Suppose they’d been persistent, abusive even, and his acknowledged quick temper had got the better of him?

  With his mind on a new set of permutations, Webb took his leave of Mrs Hargreaves and he and Jackson returned to Shillingham.

  Abbie Marlow suddenly clutched at her friend’s arm. ‘Look!’ she exclaimed, jerking her head across the road. ‘There’s Theo! I wonder where he’s off to at this time of day.’

  Since both their mothers were out, the girls had decided to skip revision for the afternoon. Their first exam was still ten days away and the sunshine beckoned, so they’d taken the bus down the hill into Shillingham.

  Mandy obediently looked at the tall, rather long-haired figure walking purposefully along the opposite pavement. ‘So that’s the famous heart-throb,’ she remarked noncommittally.

  ‘Let’s follow him!’ Abbie said impulsively.

  ‘Why on earth?’

  ‘Well, we’ve nothing better to do. It’d be fun.’

  ‘But he’ll only be going back to the office after lunch.’

  ‘No, he’s walking in the wrong direction. Come on, Mandy, just for a few minutes.’

  ‘I suppose you’re hoping he’ll see you and invite you to that garden-party thing,’ Mandy said resignedly.

  But she allowed herself to be pulled across the road and they started after their prey, who by this time was some hundred yards ahead. He was walking quickly, his long legs carrying him effortlessly over the ground so that the girls had to break into an occasional run to keep him in sight. Half way down Duke Street he turned into a side road that led to the public park.

  ‘Seems we’re not the only ones playing truant,’ Mandy said breathlessly as they took the corner after him. ‘Perhaps he’s going to feed the ducks!’

  In fact, her facetious comment seemed uncannily accurate; having entered the park, Theo did indeed make his way towards the duckpond, the two girls still in cautious pursuit. But then events took an unexpected turn: a girl who had been sitting on one of the benches jumped up and ran towards him, sliding her arms round his neck as they embraced. Abbie stiffened, and Mandy patted her arm consolingly.

  But Theo had already broken free and was talking urgently, watching his companion’s face as he did so and occasionally looking quickly about him as though to check that they were unobserved. Each time, the watchers ducked down just in time to avoid detection.

  Having responded eagerly to him at first, the girl now seemed to be holding back, lifting her hands expressively as she tried to make some point, until finally he caught hold of her and gave her a none too gentle shake. With a shrug of resignation she turned back to the bench where she’d left a carrier bag and, feeling inside, took out a large envelope. He almost snatched it out of her hands.

  ‘What on earth –?’ Abbie said under her breath. She exchanged a puzzled look with Mandy, and when they turned back to the pair, Theo was walking quickly away in the opposite direction, leaving the girl standing by the bench. As the two younger girls watched in even more bewilderment, she sank back on to it and covered her face with her hands.

  Quietly, wishing somehow that they hadn’t seen the encounter, they crept away.

  Every time the phone rang that day Monica’s mouth went dry, but it was never the mysterious caller. If, yesterday, he’d needed to speak to her so urgently, why was it no longer necessary? She found herself unable to concentrate, her mind continually returning to the puzzle.

  One of the callers, around lunch-time, was George.

  ‘Nothing further to report,’ Monica told him wryly.

  ‘Well, don’t worry about it. It couldn’t have been important, or he’d have rung back.’

  ‘All the same, it’s annoying not knowing who he was.’

  ‘How about coming to the theatre this evening, to take your mind off things?’

  ‘That sounds very tempting.’

  ‘And supper afterwards?’

  ‘I’d like to, George. Thank you.’

  ‘Does your shadow have to come as well?’

  ‘Only at a discreet distance. You wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know.’

  ‘As long as I don’t have to pay for her ticket!’

  Monica was smiling as she replaced the phone. She knew her late-night phone call was responsible for this invitation, and it made her realize how lukewarm had been her response to him over the last few months. Poor George, he deserved better.

  The phone rang again and again she jumped. But the switchboard girl was announcing the Duchess of Hampshire’s secretary. Lord, yes, the wedding outfit. She’d forgotten all about it, which showed how preoccupied she’d been. Switching off her personal problems, she thankfully turned to the comforting familiarity of her work.

  ‘An aunt?’ Sid Trubshaw was staring at them almost belligerently. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘We’ve no reason to doubt the relationship,’ Webb said mildly.

  ‘But they told us they was orphans. Brought up in an orphanage.’

  ‘Which one, Mr Trubshaw?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? Since they’re Broadshire lads, I assumed it was the Derrisbrick.’

  Webb nodded, seeing in his mind’s eye the large, forbidding building on the outskirts of Ashmartin. A happy enough place inside, though, as he’d heard more than once. ‘We checked,’ he said. ‘With the Derrisbrick and all the other orphanages in the country. None of them had any record of the White twins.’

  ‘Another of their fairy tales,’ put in Mrs Trubshaw tartly.

  ‘But they wouldn’t have lied,’ her husband protested with defiant loyalty. ‘Not to us. Mind, if the aunt and uncle threw them out when they was only nippers, they don’t deserve to be called family. P’raps that’s what they meant.’

  Tactfully diverting the conversation, Webb continued, ‘You told us they’d been with you about three years. Where were they immediately before, do you know?’ Two years were still unaccounted for after leaving the Hargreaves.

  ‘Yes, in digs on the Bridgefield estate.’ Trubshaw shot a glance at his tight-lipped wife. ‘Doris here insisted on references before she’d accept them.’

  ‘Mind, to read it you’d have thought we were getting a couple of saints,’ she said with a sniff.

  Anyone who’d housed the White twins, Webb reflected, would be too eager to be rid of them to be scrupulous about references. ‘Have you their address?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but I remember the name. Preston.’

  ‘What reason did the twins give for leaving there?’

  ‘Wanted to be nearer the town, for their job.’ Trubshaw smiled sadly. ‘And nearer the club, and all.’

  Their job; inquiries in that direction had not been enlightening.

  ‘What areas did they cover with their window-cleaning?’

  ‘The centre of town. Commercial premises, like. No private houses.’

  Which was interesting. ‘Station Road?’ All kinds of nefarious practices went on there; plenty of scope for possible blackmail.

  ‘Aye, but the smart part too. Carlton Road, East Parade, Duke Street.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Trubshaw,’ Webb said slowly, ‘you’ve both been very helpful.’

  ‘Have they?’ Jackson asked in surprise, on the way back down the path.

  ‘Oh yes. Quite apart from the Prestons, who are well worth a visit, we now have some idea of their round. It’s an interesting thought, Ken, that Miss Tovey herself might have been a customer. Her shop’s in East Parade, isn’t it?’ He got into the car. ‘And I’m still not convinced they were left at her house by chance. See, what I always come up against is why the murderer didn’t leave well alone. OK, he bundled them into the van so they wouldn’t be seen. But why didn’t he then hot-foot it back to his own car and get the hell out of it? Why climb into his victims’ van and start careering all over North Park, with the evidence of his crime jogging around in the back? It only makes sense if he’d some idea of getting even with someone. Suppose he’d a grudge against Miss Tovey, a
nd wanted to give her a fright?’

  ‘It still wouldn’t be worth taking that risk, surely? As far as we know he wasn’t used to the van; for all he knew, it could have had faulty lights or brakes or something, and one of our blokes might have stopped him. And what about the fact that it really did run out of petrol outside her house? He couldn’t have gauged that so exactly, could he? Anyway, if it was someone who knew her well enough to have a grudge, she’d have recognized him, wouldn’t she?’

  Webb sighed. ‘You’re right, Ken, none of it fits. All the same, it’d be interesting to find out how many of Miss Tovey’s acquaintances had their windows cleaned by the Lily-white Boys.’

  CHAPTER 7

  Back at his office, a note awaited Webb asking him to phone Dick Hodges. Perhaps things were moving at last.

  ‘Ah, Dave. Thought you’d like to know we came across traces of blood in the Wood Green lay-by and we’ve established it’s definitely that of the stab-victim. So at least we’ve found the scene.’

  ‘Well done, Dick. Anything where the vehicles were parked?’

  ‘Spots of oil on the main road where the van was, which match up OK, and broken branches and flattened grass on the other side of the lay-by. Something was parked under the trees all right. What’s more, a track had been made through the shrubbery to the back of the lay-by.’

  Webb gave a low whistle. ‘That’s pretty conclusive, I’d say.’

  ‘It should be, once you have a suspect. He left fibres and the odd shoe-print behind him.’

  ‘Well, that’s encouraging. Thanks, Dick.’ Webb replaced the phone and ran his hand over his face. What they now had to discover was where the twins had been between 9.0 p.m. when they left their lodgings and 11.0, when they were seen near the Mulberry Bush, a drive of only about twenty minutes. Why had they parked there? Were they waiting for someone, or indulging in a bit of spying? The other party involved was almost certainly the driver of the possible hatchback under the trees. But perhaps it was he who was spying on them? If they were meeting by arrangement, why hadn’t he driven openly into the lay-by, as the twins later did, instead of creeping round through the undergrowth? Because the murder was premeditated?