The Art of Murder (Harriet Quigley Mystery)

by Nicola Slade

  Harriet settled down to listen. ‘How many times has this happened to me,’ she thought, people’s lives laid bare.’ She sat quietly, keenly aware once more, of a desolation that went bone-deep. ‘I wonder,’ she thought. ‘It looks as though the Welsh connection is the key to the whole thing after all. Ancient history, I bet, but no less bitter for the years that have passed. I thought of vengeance, but this is all about loss and grief – terrible corrosive grief.’

  ‘You’re not surprised, are you?’ Bonnie tilted her head. ‘Had you worked out that it was me?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Harriet felt too exhausted to feign ignorance and there was a break in her voice. ‘I’d wondered if there was some connection with Wales, but that was about it until it started to get really frightening. I was deflected because I thought you’d never met Linzi, but I … oh, I don’t know. I couldn’t see how you had anything to do with it.’

  She shivered in the sunshine. ‘I’d more or less persuaded myself that George somehow killed Linzi. It wasn’t until just now that I began to wonder if it could be you.’

  ‘You’re clever,’ Bonnie nodded approval. ‘I was 16 and I’d just taken my last O-level exam,’ the quiet voice began. ‘I was never academic but I thought I’d be a nursery nurse, I loved children.

  ‘I had a boyfriend, Owen, we were so in love.’ She paused, smiling at the memory then her face darkened. ‘There was a wood at the bottom of the hill, that was where we used to go, you know … One night it suddenly bucketed down with rain – stair-rods it was – and we thought we’d better go home.’

  She hesitated. ‘This is where it gets a bit hazy, but I’ll try to explain. We’d stopped for a kiss and suddenly, out of nowhere, this car came careering down the hill, straight into us.’ She schooled her features into blankness. ‘I don’t remember much, it was a nightmare for years and it’s only lately that I’ve started to have flashbacks, like random scenes from a play. I have to tell it like a report, I can’t let myself think too hard. I don’t remember the impact, I only remember something sharp sticking into me, and hearing myself screaming. I remember something heavy on top of me and something warm and sticky dripping down on me. That was all, apart from nightmares, until about six months ago.

  ‘That’s when I began to remember. Something, someone, was crawling round the car that had hit us. The person dragged something heavy round to the other side of the car, then she – you know who it was, don’t you, even though I didn’t, not for years. She must have clambered into the passenger-seat just in time because another car came down the hill. I blanked out again and woke up in hospital with no boyfriend, no future, and no chance of children. Owen had been killed outright – it was his blood dripping down on me – and I’d suffered catastrophic damage to my womb.’

  Harriet covered her hand gently, silently. Bonnie nodded.

  ‘It was 1979 and I’ve spent my life ever since trying to come to terms with what happened. They told me I was lucky. At least I was alive and I had the insurance pay-out which my parents invested for me, so I’ve never starved, but I had to go to the inquest. I was still fragile as hell and I had to listen while Elin Parry lied through her teeth, with tears and sobs, about how her much older husband, Idris, had been too drunk to drive but had insisted. I knew better, of course. They said he was killed outright. In fact she was driving and there were no seat-belts in that vintage car. They were both thrown out and he broke his neck, but all she had were cuts and bruises. She must have had nerves of steel, she acted so fast when she realised he was dead. She hauled him round the car and pretended he’d been driving.’

  Bonnie moistened her lips. ‘You should have heard the coroner oozing sympathy, all the men did – police, doctors, garage mechanics. It was only the women who knew her for what she was – a conniving, manipulative little bitch. Her mother was a decent soul, but the women had always known why Elin had to go to Cardiff for a year when she left school. I wonder what became of that baby. The women said the village bobby was the father, but their menfolk said their wives were vicious gossips, and Elin such a sweet girl.’

  Bonnie fell silent and Harriet, once she’d assimilated all this information, made up her mind.

  ‘When did you know she was living in Winchester?’ she asked, keeping her voice level and non-judgemental.

  ‘I saw her picture in the paper six months ago,’ Bonnie replied. ‘I’d seen her at the inquest and I knew her anyway, her face haunted my nightmares. I’d lived here for years and suddenly, there she was. I checked her out, discovered she lived in Winchester and what her hobbies were so when I spotted the notice about the new art group I signed up. I put my name on the list for this weekend, too, so when Fiona rang to offer a last-minute place, I jumped at it.’

  ‘You did something else, didn’t you? Before this weekend,’ Harriet’s voice remained unthreatening.

  ‘At first, after I found out where Elin – Linzi – lived, I took fright. My thoughts were terrifying, so I let it alone until I spotted her one day, a couple of months ago, swanning around with that flashy car, her expensive hair and clothes, that lovely big house – it wasn’t fair. Why should she have everything when she had taken it all? Owen’s life and what he might have become; my children, my future. She stole it all and here she was, unpunished. It wasn’t fair.’

  ‘I don’t understand how she didn’t recognise you,’ Harriet ventured. ‘I know you wore a hoodie but surely—’

  ‘She had only known a young girl,’ Bonnie said quietly. ‘I took my wig off and once or twice I let my hood slip back; it makes me look quite different. That was something else she stole, my looks. My hair fell out and it’s never come back. Can you imagine what that did to me?’

  Harriet held her breath. Where on earth was Sam? She ventured a glance in his direction but he was still intent on his tablet. What could he be doing? ‘I wish he’d come over here but I don’t want to stem the flow.’

  ‘So you started to follow Linzi?’ Surely a gentle question in a quiet voice wouldn’t make her take flight. After that initial shock, Harriet had no fear that Bonnie meant her any harm.

  ‘I don’t know what I thought I was doing,’ Bonnie bent her head. ‘I watched to see where she went. She didn’t spot me and even if she had, I could ring the changes with other wigs. It was only in the last couple of weeks that it occurred to me to show myself in my anonymous hoodie, to let her realise someone was watching her.

  ‘I got carried away,’ she put her hand to her mouth for a moment. ‘I could see she was disturbed by it so I started the phone calls and then the empty letters.’

  ‘Weren’t you worried your calls could be traced?’

  ‘Not really. I bought a cheap phone at a car-boot sale and a sim card in the market. I’ll get rid of it. After all, I managed to chuck Linzi’s mobile into the fishpond and all that blood and vomit should have put it out of action.’

  A memory struck Harriet. ‘Did you know she was taking Warfarin?’

  ‘Of course. The stupid woman kept a spare back-door key in her unlocked shed. Didn’t take me long to get a copy and after that I dropped in several times when she was out. I spotted the Warfarin along with all the homeopathic stuff and I thought it would be interesting to see what happened if she took another blood-thinner with it.’

  ‘Interesting?’ Harriet blinked but persisted, still maintaining an air of calm. She had no way of knowing how volatile Bonnie might be. She gulped. ‘That’s one way of putting it. Once you were here, what was the thing with the wasps?’

  ‘I had a wasps’ nest in my garden the other day and I wondered if I could use them to frighten Linzi – maybe put them through her letterbox, that kind of thing – so when I’d killed them with boiling soapy water, I scooped some into a plastic box. I had no idea what I’d do with them or if I’d just throw them away, but I brought them, just in case.’ She shook her head. ‘I tried my room key in her door, just to see, and it fitted. Happens sometimes with old houses. Anyway, there was a dead was
p in my basin here and suddenly there was my plan. I heard her screaming yesterday.’ A momentary gleam brightened the pale, tortured face. ‘I’m glad she was terrified, she deserved to be.’

  ‘And the steps by the pond? What did you hope to achieve?’

  Bonnie shrugged. ‘Not what happened, that’s for sure. It was another spur-of-the-moment thing. I thought how easily someone could turn an ankle on the narrow steps, break a leg maybe. From there it was simple, so I texted her to meet me in ten minutes by the pool. If she’d noticed the stones or anyone else had wandered past, she’d have had an irritating wait, but it was pretty safe to assume she’d use the back way, less danger of anyone seeing her.’ She glanced over to where Sam was still engrossed in his iPad. ‘I do know I’m mad, Harriet,’ she said, still in that same conversational tone. ‘I’ve been mad for a very, very long time.’

  ‘I see.’ What more was there to say? To do? Harriet rose and looked down compassionately at the other woman. ‘What happens next, Bonnie? You realise I must tell the police about this? I know Linzi wasn’t a nice woman and I do sympathise, I really do, with what you’ve told me, but she’s dead.’ She hesitated. ‘I know it sounds trite but I’m sure you’ll feel some kind of release when it’s all out in the open. Maybe you can find your way to some kind of peace.’

  ‘You think I give a damn about Elin Bray?’ There was outrage in Bonnie’s voice. ‘I didn’t want her to die – I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to toss and turn all night and watch the dawn in fear and dread of what the day would bring. I wanted that to go on for the rest of her life.

  ‘She wasn’t supposed to die.’

  Bonnie stood up too. ‘You think it’s her death that’s broken me, Harriet? You’re quite wrong. I won’t lose any sleep over her. She used people and threw them aside when she’d done with them. I don’t give a damn about her.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘It’s not her. I made a terrible mistake. I thought … It looked just like her and I’d seen Elin minutes earlier heading for the Great Hall. I only wanted to hurt her, so I pushed her down the stone steps and I was glad. But it wasn’t her, it was that French girl.’

  Harriet gasped in horror. ‘No!’

  ‘I was Nemesis avenging Owen and our lost hopes, but instead I killed an innocent young girl with her whole life ahead of her. And then – I can’t believe I made the same mistake – I pushed Seren downstairs too. I told you I was mad – but I’m beyond madness.’

  She swallowed and turned aside. ‘Go home, Harriet. Yes, tell the police, I know you must. I like your idea of heaven and hell but it’s not mine. I’ll burn for what I did to that girl and I embrace the thought. It crucifies me and I deserve it.’

  *

  ‘I’ve found out something, Harriet.’ Sam loped across the car park to where his cousin stood watching Bonnie Mercer walk out of the gates, a weekend bag slung across her shoulder. ‘Harriet?’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, Sam, I wasn’t listening. What have you found out?’

  He gave her a shrewd look and ushered her towards the car. ‘Good job we came in my car, you’re not fit to drive. Hop in and I’ll fill you in on the way home.’

  He nosed the Volvo through the narrow streets and headed for the hills while Harriet slumped in the passenger seat, saying nothing. As Sam watched the road, he said: ‘Remember that old newspaper clipping? I’ve been searching the web for details of the accident, the one that killed Idris Parry but not his beautiful young wife.’

  Harriet sat up, interested despite her misery. ‘And?’

  ‘It was pretty horrible. A young lad was killed in the crash and a girl badly injured. Idris Parry and his wife were thrown out of the car – no seat belts on the old Morgan, of course. He was killed but his wife, Elin, was shocked but uninjured. According to her testimony her husband was drunk but insisted on driving regardless. She’d also been drinking; it was a golf club ‘do’ and in those days they all drank like fishes, but he refused to get a taxi. It was a wet night and he lost control of the car on a bend in the road.

  ‘The coroner was very sympathetic and expressed his condolences to the widow, to the parents of the boy who was killed and to Bronwen Evans, the girl who had been with him. I wonder whatever happened to her.’

  ‘She turned into Bonnie Mercer and she stalked Linzi Bray to her death,’ Harriet said shakily. ‘And much worse than that, she killed that French teenager in mistake for Linzi.’

  Chapter 15

  Sunday, later

  ‘Come on, Harriet, you’ve got to let it go, you’ll make yourself ill.’

  ‘Oh, Sam, I’m sorry,’ she shook herself out of her thoughts and blew her nose damply. ‘It’s just so horrible, all of it. I can’t believe that Bonnie just—’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t she tell someone years ago? A doctor? A friend, even? She could have come to me—’

  ‘She couldn’t, Sam.’ Harriet’s voice was gentle. ‘She had a huge crush on you, you know she did. How could she confess to her rage and bitterness, her hatred for another human being. She couldn’t have told anyone, least of all you.’

  He was silenced. ‘I’m ashamed,’ he said finally, as he turned up the leafy lane towards the village. He had stopped earlier in a layby to let Harriet cry it all out. ‘We used to get so fed up with her and later on, of course, when Avril was ill – I must have been unapproachable.’

  ‘And I was irritated and snotty when I met her,’ Harriet tightened her lips. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Sam – Bonnie didn’t. She blamed Linzi and said she deserved what she got. It was the terrible thing she did by causing that French child’s death that tore her apart.’

  *

  By the time they’d greeted the cats, had a cup of tea, and Sam had gone off to do his unpacking, Harriet was exhausted and she fell asleep on the sofa in her sitting room. Sam looked in, tucked a throw over her and tiptoed back to his own domain to find some lunch.

  More than three hours later she woke, refreshed but still very upset. She couldn’t face food but after a wash, she unpacked and made a decision.

  She picked up her mobile and tapped in a number.

  ‘Harriet? What can I do for you?’ Her former student sounded wary.

  ‘I don’t want to keep you, John, but you’re the only senior policeman I know. I’ve just been on a residential art course in Winchester and there’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘Is this about Tadema Lodge?’ There was a sudden, sharp interest in his voice.

  ‘How on earth did you know that?

  ‘A woman walked in here just under two hours ago. She handed a memory stick to the guy on the desk and said it was to be given to a detective. Somebody in CID hadn’t got enough to do so he read it straight away. Turns out she had written up a story that went back to the late 70s and frankly, they thought it was a fantasy at first until they reached the bit at the end. I’ve been brought into it because she mentioned you as being one of the guests at the B&B. Your name rang a bell because they knew I’d had dealings with you. I was about to call you.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Harriet let out a sigh of relief. ‘I’m so glad she went straight to the police. I was afraid she’d do something stupid.’

  There was a pause. ‘Ah …’ his sombre voice made her take a quick breath, ‘… by ‘stupid’, Harriet, I suspect you’d include walking straight out of the police station to the railway bridge and jumping off into the path of an oncoming train. She did a very efficient job of it and the poor sod of a driver will have nightmares for the rest of his life.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Harriet started to shake. ‘What a dreadful thing …’

  *

  In the days that followed Harriet made a statement that detailed everything that Fiona had confided to her about the stalking, as well as the events she had herself witnessed. She put down what Bonnie had told her about the death of her boyfriend and her own catastrophic injuries, and she set out the instances of Bonnie’s stalking campaign. The hardest part was spellin
g out Bonnie’s agonised confession regarding the death of the French teenager. It was difficult to make plain the contrast between the cool, almost indifferent way she had mentioned Linzi’s death, and the real anguish and guilt she had suffered at mistaking Juliette Bélanger for the woman she had hated for so long.

  Fiona also made a statement, and later shared some of Harriet’s misgivings. ‘I wish to God I hadn’t dismissed it as attention-seeking,’ she confessed. ‘Oh well, I suppose we wait now until the inquest and then pray that it’s all over.’

  Her face brightened. ‘One good thing, Thomas seems to have settled down at Uni, thank goodness. I rang him about Linzi and he was shocked, of course, but he seems to have found himself a girlfriend now, so he’ll be fine.’

  As the week wore on, the horrors began to fade as little scraps of good news filtered through. Donald and Madeleine had made a momentous decision. Donald was to give up his studio-flat and move into Madeleine’s spare room as her lodger, though Harriet suspected they would soon be more than just friends. His own flat was rented out, and might in time be sold, but at present he would pay Madeleine rent and use her conservatory as a temporary studio.

  ‘Tim and Seren have been to see Walnut House,’ Sam told Harriet when he looked in on her after a day at the farm office. ‘They’re both very excited about it and I’m not at all sure it’ll be divided up. Still, they’ve got a few months to see how things go and we won’t hassle them for a decision.’

  ‘You’re not the only one to have news,’ she said. ‘I gather Jess’s husband is taking early retirement. It’s all very sudden and Fiona says Jess is unusually close-mouthed about it so I wonder if he’s jumped before he was pushed, and…’ there was a laugh in her voice, ‘… George Yarrow told Clare he wants a divorce and he’s put the house on the market already. There’ll be enough equity to buy a small place each and – my source is Fiona, of course – Clare’s furious she didn’t think of it first.’