The Dead Girl's Shoes

by Arney, Angela

  ‘It will be, if we get some orders in for the product. Money, that’s what constitutes success in this game,’ said Louise, ever practical. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow evening if I can. But remember I’ll be in Paris, we’ve got the French launch the day after, so I might not have time to talk. I’ll try and text you.’

  Lizzie kissed her goodbye. ‘What a frenetic life you do lead, darling,’ she said. ‘You make me feel a real old stick in the mud.’

  ‘You will never be a stick in the mud,’ said Louise. ‘Although I do think it’s a bit quiet down here in the New Forest. Nothing much seems to happen. Apart from the odd murder.’ She laughed. ‘Only joking, I’m sure there won’t be any murders this year. It will be nice and quiet and you can rusticate to your heart’s content.’

  *

  Although intending to leave early, it was nearly midnight by the time Lizzie made her way to her car, and most other people had already left. It was very dark because only two lights had been left on in the car park, and Lizzie’s car was in a pool of gloom, which made her feel a little nervous. She hoped there were no animals wandering about; apparently the deer were inclined to escape from the park and roam up to the hotel and gardens. Clicking her key fob, she made her way towards the welcoming winking sidelights of the car, glad she had those to follow in the darkness. As she was about to open the door and get in she heard angry voices at the far side of the car park, but it was too dark to see who they belonged to. One of the voices was definitely male, and Lizzie thought it was Simon Villiers, but couldn’t be certain, and the other was a girl’s voice. Shrill and angry. ‘Run away if you want. You’ve lied to me for years, but you’re not going to get away with anything now. I’ll tell…’

  But whoever it was she was going to tell was lost as another car, which Lizzie hadn’t noticed before, drove across the car park and out of the gate. It was a four by four and the sound of its wheels on the gravel and then the clatter as it drove across the cattle grid drowned the voices.

  Lizzie stood silent for a moment in the darkness and listened, but all was silent. It seemed that now she was the only person there, so sliding into the driving seat she too drove out through the gates, over the cattle grid, and made her way across the deer park, which surrounded the Country House Hotel. The gravel track across the park led to the main gates, which opened on a narrow B road, and was almost a mile long.

  Ahead of her, in the distance, Lizzie could now see a girl on a bike. She appeared to be cycling with difficulty and from the light of her headlights Lizzie could see the back wheel was wobbling violently. Suddenly the girl dismounted and looked at the rear wheel, then started walking and pushing the bike. Must be a bad puncture, thought Lizzie, and intending to give her a lift she began to slow down. However, a small red car roared past her and skidded to a halt beside the girl. By now, she was near enough to see the girl properly and could see it was the waitress called Jem. She obviously knew the driver of the car, because without hesitation, she threw her bike on to the verge, opened the passenger door and climbed in. The car roared off into the night, leaving the abandoned bicycle lying at the side of the gravel track.

  Thwarted in her intention of being a good Samaritan, Lizzie drove on and thought no more about it. Once back at home, in Silver Cottage, Deer Leap Lane, exhaustion took over, and she fell into bed and slept soundly until the alarm woke her the following morning at six thirty am.

  Chapter 2

  At 5.30am on the morning of Friday 16th May, Bert Grayer, the head gardener at Avon Hall, stood in the walled garden before his three prize bushes of the rose, Black Velvet. He was furious.

  ‘Every damned one gone,’ he muttered. ‘Huh, don’t know what Mrs Villiers is going to say. She won’t be pleased, that’s for sure.’

  Dan, his grandson, who Bert was trying to get interested in gardening, with a view to making him an apprentice, joined him. Although Dan was more interested in the pop group he had recently formed, he didn’t mind earning a bit in the garden, especially on a fine late spring morning. He too looked at the decimated bushes.

  He whistled. ‘She’ll be furious. I know she wanted to make a display in the house, promoting the perfume as well as the garden. I bet they’ve left a load of roses over at the Country Hotel with all the other stuff from last night. I could go over, find them, and bring them back into the house here. What do you think?’

  Bert nodded his head. ‘Good idea, Dan. Go over there now. Take the pop-pop, that’ll be quicker.’

  The pop-pop was an ancient motorised bicycle left over from the war. Although not suitable for modern roads, it was very useful for riding around the grounds of Avon Hall, and the Country House Hotel deer park. The extensive grounds of both were adjoining, and very convenient for the pop-pop.

  Dan didn’t need telling twice. An early morning ride through the deer park was just what he fancied. Much better than the weeding which was what he knew Bert had in mind for him to do. The pop-pop was kept in a disused potting shed, which nestled close to the bank beneath the biggest fig tree in the garden. It was close by the remains of the ancient icehouse which was boarded up for safety reasons. Dan had never seen inside, but his grandfather told him that if anyone fell down there they’d never be seen alive again. Dan didn’t believe the old man’s tales, but did believe that it was probably very deep, and had never been tempted to explore there.

  He made his way towards the shed through the second rose garden. The floribunda arches were bursting into flower, but he noticed the arch at the far end was badly damaged. It had toppled sideways on to the lavender bushes, scattering delicate rose heads across the path. He had to heave the heavy wire archway from the path, before he could reach the potting shed.

  Dragging the pop-pop from the back of the shed, he prepared to wheel the machine away. It was then that he noticed that the door to the icehouse had been broken and parts of it were now lying on the edge of the path. It looked as if vandals had been active in the gardens during the night; his grandfather would be furious.

  Carefully, Dan made his way to the entrance. Once closer, he could see the remains of the door were lying loosely across the entrance, so very carefully, he pulled the planks of wood away. The opening yawned darkly, and cautiously he stepped forward and looked over the edge.

  He saw the body of the girl immediately. He thought it was a girl because of her clothes. She was wearing a dark skirt, and a frilly white blouse, but he couldn’t see the face, as the head was twisted away, but the hair was long and blonde and stained with streaks of what Dan was certain was blood. She was lying head down, just inside and across the crumbling steps. He couldn’t tell whether she was dead or just unconscious, but knew there was no way he could get her out of the icehouse without help. He’d have to go for assistance, and quickly.

  *

  D.C.I. Adam Maguire was still at home and had just made his first cup of strong black coffee when the phone rang at 6.00am. It was early, but he was not surprised. Work in the CID was not a 9 till 5 job. However, that suited him. There was nothing in his life now to tie him to regular hours; no wife, and there never had been a family. His only responsibility was his old Labrador, Tess. He lavished all his affection and spare time on her, although Phineas was always nudging him to take more interest in the new GP Lizzie Browne. But Adam resisted, sensing that like him, Lizzie Browne was not anxious to rush into any relationship, so they remained cautious friends. And as for Tess, as long as she got fed and plenty of attention from her master she didn’t mind his odd hours.

  He picked up the phone. ‘Maguire,’ he said. A phone call so early in the morning usually meant something interesting.

  It was his sergeant, Steve Grayson. A man of few words, especially this time of the morning. He was married with a small baby son, and was often sleep deprived, and therefore not quite so keen on early morning starts, although he never complained. ‘There’s a body, sir,’ he said. ‘A girl. Up at Avon Hall, in the icehouse in the rose garden’

 
; ‘Are you up there?’

  ‘No, just about to go, sir. I’ve already rung for forensics, and I’m picking up Kevin Harrison.’

  ‘Good man, thanks.’ Adam sipped his coffee, and let the hot reviving liquid trickle down his throat. ‘I’ll meet you there in about twenty minutes.’ Replacing the phone, he then opened the kitchen door and let Tess out into the garden. ‘Sorry old girl,’ he said, ‘but the garden will have to do you for this morning. We’ll have a proper walk when I get back.’

  *

  Dan Grayer let Maguire in through the main gates of Avon Hall at 7.50am. The house and gardens of Avon Hall didn’t open to the public until 10.30am, and the ornate iron gates were kept locked until then.

  Maguire looked at the sign on the gates advertising the opening times. ‘You’d better put up a temporary sign saying the house and gardens are closed until further notice,’ he said.

  Dan looked worried. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘I’m only a gardener. It’s Mrs Villiers you need to speak to.’

  ‘Where is she?’ asked Maguire, winding down the window.

  ‘Up in the second rose garden, with the body,’ said Dan. ‘Do you want me to show you?

  ‘Yes, hop in.’

  ‘I found her,’ said Dan, as he settled himself into the passenger seat. He shuddered. ‘It was awful. And I know who she is.’

  Maguire didn’t follow up that particular comment but said, ‘you think she’s definitely dead?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Dan firmly. ‘I didn’t touch her more than I had to though. Neither of us did,’ he added quickly. ‘But once granddad and I got her out it was easy enough to see there was no hope for her, just by looking.’

  ‘Got her out from where?’ asked Maguire.

  ‘The icehouse. That’s where she was, but we couldn’t leave her there not knowing whether she was dead or alive, could we?’

  Maguire agreed. ‘No you couldn’t. Well done, you and granddad. Your granddad is Bert Grayer, isn’t it? He’s the one who always wins prizes for his leeks and onions at the Stibbington summer fete.’

  Dan nodded, but was not interested in his grandfather’s leeks and onions. He was much more interested in the goings on in the rose garden. ‘The doctor hasn’t pronounced her dead yet,’ he said. ‘But he will. He’s up there now. Dr Merryweather. Funny old chap, isn’t he?’

  ‘Funny old chap, he may be,’ said Maguire, ‘but he’s one of the best forensic pathologists around. He won’t miss a thing.’

  ‘Oh, this is definitely murder,’ said Dan confidently. ‘Someone hit her on the head. Plain as a pikestaff.’

  Maguire smiled grimly. ‘Thank you for that information. However, you will need to write everything you know and everything you have seen down for me. You know that, don’t you?’ Dan nodded. ‘And you say you know who she is?’

  Dan nodded again. ‘It’s Jemima Villiers,’ he said. ‘She’s a cousin of the main family, and lived up at the Hall with them, but moved out when she started at uni in Salisbury. I don’t know where she lives now. Or did live,’ he corrected himself. ‘Salisbury I suppose.’

  Maguire parked the car in the yard outside the walled rose gardens, by the side of the small wooden chalet, which served teas and coffees to the visitors when Avon Hall was open. He then walked through with Dan to the second garden, the entrance now sealed off by blue and white plastic taping - obviously Steve and Kevin had been busy. Lifting the tape Maguire entered. He paused a moment. He’d never visited the Avon gardens before and was now struck by their peaceful beauty. The faint perfume of roses hung in the air, mixed with the pungent aroma of the lavender bushes that lined all the flint paths. A blackbird was singing, its liquid notes cascading down on the inhabitants of the garden. Death, thought Maguire, is out of place in this lovely spot.

  Grayson came towards him. He indicated the tent which had already been erected over the body beside the icehouse. ‘Dr Merryweather is already in there,’ he said. ‘Nasty business. A young girl, niece of the owner.’

  ‘So I gather. And she was originally found in the ice house I believe.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got Kevin Harrison and Millie Jones sealing it off until the rest of the forensic team get here. They haven’t been down into it though, it’s damned dangerous. Oh, and by the way, I’ve sent a message through to the estate office telling them to close the estate to the public for the foreseeable future. They weren’t very happy.’

  ‘Tough,’ said Maguire. ‘We can’t have people trampling everywhere, destroying what evidence there is. Now Steve, bring me up to date on everything else you’ve got.’

  ‘Well,’ began Grayson, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a tall woman, dressed in a flowing pink dressing gown with matching pink fluffy slippers.

  She came towards Maguire in an imperious manner and firmly grabbed his arm. ‘This is terrible, terrible,’ she said. ‘A girl! Murdered! Here in my garden. It’s my niece, you know. My own niece, Jemima. She shouldn’t have been here, of course. Had no right to be here. She moved out last year. She wasn’t living here, so I can’t understand it. What was she doing here at Avon Hall in the first place? And why was she murdered?’

  ‘That’s what we’re here to find out,’ said Maguire, attempting to release himself politely from her grip.

  ‘Of course I came down to the garden as soon as Bert called me. It was such a shock, and I wasn’t even out of bed. I haven’t had a cup of tea or anything yet, and I feel quite shaky.’

  Steve Grayson and Maguire looked at each other, and each knew what the other was thinking. This woman, who Maguire had only just managed to shake off, did not look or sound shaky. Not in the slightest.

  ‘I am Mrs Amelia Villiers,’ she continued in a strident tone. ‘I shall take charge now as Harold has gone away. On business you know. Of course, he should be here, but I don’t know how to get hold of him at the moment, so I shall have to deal with everything.’

  ‘Harold Villiers, is the husband,’ said Grayson quietly in an aside. He shrugged and added sotto voce, ‘why can’t she get hold of him? I can’t believe he doesn’t carry a mobile.’

  Before Maguire could reply Phineas Merryweather emerged on his hands and knees from the small forensic tent, red in the face and puffing loudly. He looked at Maguire and raised his eyebrows expressively when he saw Mrs. Villiers, who had her back to him and was holding on to Maguire’s arm again. After struggling to his feet he came across to them. ‘Mrs Villiers,’ he said firmly, ‘I am a doctor, take my advice. You must go back to the house now, and sit down and have a cup of tea. All this has been a terrible shock for you.’ He took her arm and started to steer her away from the tent and Maguire. ‘You must get away from this distressing scene,’ he continued. ‘I’ll make sure we get word to your husband as soon as possible. Don’t you worry about anything.’ Turning to Maguire he said, ‘This is Mrs Amelia Villiers, the wife of the owner of Avon Hall.’

  ‘I know.’ Maguire showed his identification, but Amelia Villiers hardly glanced at it.

  ‘I shall come back straight away after I’ve changed,’ she said, gathering up her pink dressing gown. ‘That is my niece in there. I need to be here to take charge.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the police tent covering the girl’s body as she spoke.

  Not if I can help it, thought Maguire. He could see Steve Grayson looking slightly apprehensive and guessed that he wasn’t the only one who’d had his fill of Mrs Amelia Villiers. ‘You have no need to worry about anything Mrs Villiers,’ he said firmly. ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Maguire and I am taking charge. Dr Merryweather is quite right. You must go back to the house and have a cup of tea. You’ve had a bad shock.’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maguire and his team are very good at this sort of thing,’ said Phineas, turning her around and pointing her again in the direction of the garden’s exit. ‘Now go back to the Hall, and don’t forget you must get a notice put on the main gates telling the public that the house and gardens will be cl
osed until further notice.’

  Amelia Villiers recoiled in horror. ‘But I can’t do that. All the scones and sandwiches for today’s visitors are ordered. They’ll be wasted. We can’t afford that. You see, we always serve teas and coffees in the rose gardens when the weather is fine.’

  Maguire began to feel irritated. The fact that her niece had been murdered seemed less important to her than the waste of the scones and sandwiches.

  Dan Grayer stepped into the breach. ‘We can ring Janet Hastings and get her to come into the office early, Ma’am,’ he said. ‘She’s the secretary,’ he said to Maguire. ‘She does the website and all the stuff like that, and she orders the food. She can probably stop the suppliers before they’ve started. It’s early enough. And she can do the notices about the closure for the gate, and put it all on the website as well.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Maguire, glad that someone at Avon Hall had their wits about them. ‘Take my man Harrison and go up with Mrs Villiers and do that. One thing though, please don’t tell people there has been a murder.’ He fixed Mrs Villiers with a firm stare. ‘You do understand that, don’t you? For the moment, we shall not be releasing any information about anything.’ Mrs Villiers opened her mouth, but Maguire jumped in before she could say anything. ‘We shall inform your husband. When we find him,’ he added.

  ‘What about my statement?’ asked Dan. ‘I’ve given it to Steve Grayson, but I haven’t signed anything.’

  ‘That’s all we need for now,’ said Maguire.

  *

  It was with relief he turned back to Phineas as they watched the three of them walking back towards the house. ‘Poor old Amelia,’ said Phineas. ‘Always so bossy, but can’t open a tin of beans by herself. She drives my wife mad when they meet up at the WI occasionally. Audrey says she gives her a headache.’

  ‘I think she’d soon give me a headache as well,’ said Maguire. ‘Thank heavens that young gardener was here.’ He started to walk towards the tent, gleaming white in the morning sunshine. ‘Tell me what you think so far.’