The Dead Girl's Shoes

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The Dead Girl's Shoes Page 12

by Arney, Angela


  It was Alistair, Steve noticed, who looked apprehensive. ‘Why? None of this has anything to do with us,’ he said.

  Maguire didn’t reply, but stood aside as Edward fished out some keys from his pocket and opened the door into their flat. It was Alistair who spoke again. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

  Maguire strode through and sat himself at the kitchen table. He didn’t hang about, but got straight down to his enquiries. ‘Were you two good friends with the students down stairs?’ he asked.

  ‘I passed the time of day, that kind of thing,’ said Alistair.

  ‘And you?’ Maguire looked at Edward.

  ‘Me too. Although I did help them with answers to some of their problems.’ He saw Maguire’s questioning expression. ‘Questions on chemistry,’ he added hastily, then looked across at Alistair. ‘We might as well tell them, Alistair. We didn’t do anything wrong, apart from using laboratory equipment for our own work. It didn’t cost the university much, and we did it in our own time.’ Alistair nodded.

  ‘What kind of problems did they want answers to?’ Maguire asked, while Steve waited, pencil poised above notebook.

  There was a long silence, while the two young men looked at each other. Then Alistair sat down opposite Maguire. ‘DNA tests and the results,’ he said. ‘Jem asked us to do them for her. She didn’t tell us whose DNA it was that we were testing. She had labelled them herself as - male (a1) male (b1) female (aa1) and female (bb1). Four in total. She wanted to know was whether any of the samples showed that the people concerned were related to one another, such as a father or mother to one of the others, or brothers and sisters.’

  ‘And?’ Maguire’s voice was quiet.

  ‘The results showed that there was a father daughter relationship between one pair, and a father son between the two males, as well as a brother and sister. The other female (bb1) didn’t match with any of them. That’s all we know. We gave the results to Jem the evening before she went off to Avinton to work at the Country House Hotel. I gave her three copies, because that was what she asked for, but what happened to them after I passed them over to her, I have no idea. But I’ve got another copy here, it’s simplified of course.’ Picking up a sheet of paper from the dresser, he passed it over to Maguire.

  Maguire looked at it. ‘Without names attached it makes no sense.’

  Male a1 + Female aa1 = Father daughter

  Male a1 + Male b1 = Father son

  Male b1 + Female aa1 = Brother and Sister

  Female bb1 - no connection to any of the others

  ‘We’ve been wondering ever since why she wanted them and whether it has anything to do with her murder,’ said Edward.

  ‘It may well have something to do with it,’ said Maguire, ‘but we won’t be able to tell until we know who the DNA belongs to.’ He stood and walked over to the door, then turned and looked at them sternly. ‘Just make sure you two stay around. I shall almost certainly need to speak to you again.’

  Edward turned to Alistair. ‘I told you we shouldn’t have got involved with it,’ he said. ‘Jem was so secretive about it; I just knew there was something wrong.’

  Alistair shrugged. ‘Too late now,’ he said as Steve and Maguire left the room.

  Steve clattered down the stairs behind Maguire. ‘I’m sure it’s something to do with the murder,’ he said. ‘But how do we find out whose DNA it is?’

  ‘No problem,’ came the reply. ‘I’ll get Phineas to sort all that out. I intended having everyone’s DNA on file anyway. Now I need it urgently.’

  Steve didn’t say anything. Personally, he thought Maguire had been far too relaxed about that and should have asked for DNA samples and tests earlier, but he knew better than to voice such thoughts. He remained silent and followed Maguire down to Jemima’s room.

  *

  The blue and white tape still stretched across the door, but it was open and they could see Dave holding up the mattress from the bed, while one of his sidekicks rummaged about beneath it. ‘Just in time,’ he said to Maguire, his voice muffled by the mattress and bedclothes, which were falling down around him. ‘Looks like we might have found something.’ He reached across beneath the mattress and withdrew a brown hospital envelope with Confidential stamped across it, and passed it over to Maguire.

  ‘It’s the DNA results,’ confirmed Maguire, once he’d opened it and retrieved the contents. ‘But only one set. She must have taken the other sets with her.’ As he unfolded the papers, another sheet of A4 fell to the floor.

  Steve picked it up, looked at it quickly then gave a whistle. ‘It’s a photocopy of a handwritten letter from Jemima to Harold Villiers,’ he said, passing it across to Maguire.

  For a moment, there was silence while Maguire read it. Then he said slowly, ‘I think we have our murderer and the motive nicely set out for us here.’ He began to read it aloud.

  ‘Dear Uncle Harold, or as I should really call you, Daddy. You will see from the attached DNA test results, that you are quite clearly my father, and the father of Simon, but not the father of Ruth. Now that I know the truth at last and there is no disputing this, I think it’s only right and proper that I should inherit my part of the Villiers fortune, namely part of the house, gardens and land. I should share it with Simon who is my half-brother.

  Ruth should inherit nothing, except perhaps a small amount of money. She can have the small amount I was due to get as your niece. I would point out though, that she is not actually entitled even to that because she is not a blood relation of yours. She has not one drop of Villiers’ blood running through her veins. Only that of Amelia’s family, and her father, whoever that might be.

  I am putting this letter in your Dress Suit pocket for you to find on Thursday night, and I want to meet you this coming weekend. I suggest we meet in the eel trap lodge on Saturday to sort things out to my satisfaction. Don’t try to get out of meeting me. You’ve got to face up to your responsibilities, and I have no intention of keeping quiet about this. No matter how awkward that might be for you and the rest of the Villiers..

  Your daughter, Jemima.’

  ‘Well, that sorts that out then,’ said Steve. ‘All we’ve got to do now is go and talk to Mr Harold Villiers again. He’s our main suspect now, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but I wonder where the other copies are,’ said Maguire, carefully folding the letter and putting it back into the brown envelope.

  ‘We don’t need them do we?’ asked Steve. ‘What we’ve got is good enough.’

  ‘True, but she asked for three sets. Why?’ said Maguire. ‘I don’t like loose ends. But you’re right. We don’t need them, but we do need to prove the case against Harold Villiers. Being Jemima’s father is not enough; we can’t arrest him for that.’

  When they got outside to the car Maguire turned to Steve. ‘You’d better ring Ann and tell her you might be late this evening. I think we need to have a word with Harold Villiers as soon as possible. You ring Ann, while I drive back to my house to let Tess out for a pee. Then you can come with me and we’ll both go up to Avon Hall. I’ll drive while you ring Ann now.’

  Ann wouldn’t be best pleased thought Steve glumly as he scrolled through the numbers on his mobile. He knew she had been planning a Greek night in this evening and was cooking calamari and roast peppers. She‘d told him they weren’t being adventurous enough with their food, and as they were going to Corfu for their holiday in September, she thought they ought to prepare themselves for exotic dishes. But it’s going to be take away pizza for me again tonight, thought Steve as he heard Ann’s voice answer his call.

  Once he’d dealt with a frustrated Ann, who was worried about the calamari as she’d defrosted the squid the day before. ‘I’m not sure whether they’ll still be all right,’ she said.

  ‘Sure to be,’ answered Steve with more confidence than he felt. ‘Greece is a hot country and they eat tons of it there, and it can’t all be straight out of the sea. We’ll be OK, ours will be straight out of the frid
ge.’

  ‘Suppose so,’ said Ann, and on that doubtful note, he switched off the mobile, and began thinking about the revelations the DNA test results had revealed.

  ‘It’s not so surprising Jemima being the daughter of Harold,’ he said to Maguire once he’d switched off the mobile, ‘because everyone has always suspected that. But it is surprising that she was threatening him, and it’s surprising too, that Ruth is not his daughter.’

  ‘Hmm,’ murmured Maguire. ‘That means, of course, that Amelia Villiers is no paragon of virtue either. I wonder if Harold knew about that! Now we come back to the red car that picked up Jemima the night of her murder. We need to find that vehicle. Harold Villiers must have been driving it, that’s why Jemima got into it without hesitation. He stopped, she knew him, and so she got in.’

  ‘Blackmail on her mind, murder on his,’ muttered Steve.

  ‘Well, perhaps not as clear cut as that,’ said Maguire. ‘These things never are. Most murders, particularly family murders, are rarely carefully planned. They happen in the heat of the moment.’ He paused. ‘Get on to Kevin again and find out how he’s doing tracking down all those students who were employed on the night of the do at the Country House Hotel.’

  ‘I thought we could forget about them now.’

  ‘As potential murderers probably yes, but one of them may have seen Harold Villiers lurking around, and more importantly, one of them might have seen a small red car with Harold in it.’

  But Kevin wasn’t answering his phone, neither was he in the office at the station in Stibbington.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Maguire, surprising Steve by sounding relaxed about it. ‘We’ll catch up with him sooner or later.’

  *

  On leaving the Armitage bungalow, Lizzie threw the large bras on to her back seat ready to be delivered to Bradleys the following day. It was too late now; the shop closed at five o’clock on a Monday, and it was well past that time. She smiled at the sight of the two enormous bras wondering why Mrs Armitage, who was a frail, tiny old woman, always stole such enormous underclothes. At least three of her would have fitted into the bras and knickers she habitually stole. Even the trout she’d filched had been the biggest ones according to Spud Murphy. She obviously had a fixation for large things, except when it came to her husband. Arthur Armitage was a tiny little goblin of a man.

  As Tara Murphy had put it, ‘He wouldn’t have looked out of place standing beside a garden pond with a fishing rod in his hand.’

  As she drove home, Lizzie toyed with the idea of ringing Adam, and giving him the low down on what she’d learned from Spud Murphy. However, she didn’t, because common sense told her he wouldn’t be interested. None of it really had anything concrete to do with the case of the murdered girl. Spud had his opinions about the family, but even he didn’t have a view about the possible causes for the murder. Everyone agreed that it seemed such a senseless, brutal killing. Poor girl she thought, and worried again about Louise. They hadn’t had a proper conversation since the perfume launch, and Lizzie rectified that by ringing Louise the moment she was indoors.

  Louise sounded unusually stressed when she answered the phone. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said, ‘I’m so glad it’s you. I thought it was that wretched policeman again, Kevin something or other.’

  ‘Kevin Harrison,’ Lizzie was puzzled. ‘Why have you been talking to him?’

  ‘He wants me to give him the list of all the people who took a ride on the mini bus that I hired that night. And the problem is I don’t have a record. He has a list of the names of the casual staff we hired for the evening, but some came under their own steam on bikes, or got lifts from their homes to the hotel, one or two of them even drove their own cars. I don’t know anything for certain. I left it to them to use the mini bus if they wanted to, or come under their own steam.’ She paused for breath, and sounded tearful. ‘He makes me feel that I’m responsible for that girl being murdered.’

  ‘Sit down,’ said Lizzie severely, ‘and take a hold of yourself. Of course, you are not responsible. They were all adults, employed for the evening by you. They were responsible for themselves, and that includes Jemima.’

  ‘But I feel so awful because she got murdered going home from my gig.’

  ‘We all feel awful about that,’ said Lizzie, ‘and it’s horribly sad. But none of us is responsible. And as for Kevin Harrison, I’m sure Maguire has told him to find out the movements of all the people who were there that night. Information you don’t have, and when he rings again you must tell him so and be very firm.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ said Louise. ‘I will.’

  ‘I’ll ring you later this evening just to make sure you’re OK,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’ve got to go now, I’ve got a call waiting and I’m duty doctor tonight until ten o’clock, so I can’t keep the caller waiting.’

  The call was from Avon Hall. It was Janet Hastings. ‘Dr Browne,’ she said breathlessly, ‘I’m ringing on behalf of Mr Harold Villiers. He’s very unwell. I think he’s had a heart attack, but he says he hasn’t. Anyway, I’ve persuaded him to go to bed. I wanted to ring 999 but he wouldn’t let me. I don’t know what to do. Will you come out and see him?’

  ‘On my way. But if he gets any worse and you think he’s having another heart attack, don’t hesitate. Ring 999.’

  *

  Lizzie arrived at Avon Hall just in time to see Maguire sitting in his car while Steve Grayson was standing in front of the gates, struggling with the enormous cast iron latch, before swinging the gates open. Giving Maguire a brief wave, she drove forward, pausing momentarily beside Steve.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Could ask you the same thing,’ he replied. ‘It’s a bit late for you to be making visits isn’t it?’

  ‘Not when I’m duty doctor it isn’t,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’ve on my way up to see the master of the house. He’s been taken ill, and I’d better hurry because it sounds serious.’ Putting the car in gear, she drove off up the drive towards the house.

  Steve dashed across to Maguire who was still sitting in the car, and scrambled into the front passenger seat. ‘Harold Villiers is ill,’ he said. ‘Dr Browne is going to see him. She says it’s serious.’

  ‘Damn.’ Maguire swore softly under his breath, ‘I thought everything was falling into place too neatly. We’d better get up there smartish.’

  On arrival at the house they were confronted by a distraught Janet Hastings. ‘You can’t talk to anyone now,’ she said. ‘Only Mr Villiers is here at the moment anyway. I don’t know where Simon or Mrs Villiers are, and Mr Villiers is very, very poorly and in bed. Dr Browne is with him upstairs now.’

  ‘It’s only Mr Villiers we want to see,’ said Maguire. ‘But I suppose if he’s ill we’d better not disturb him. We’ll wait and speak to Dr Browne when she comes down.’

  Janet Hastings regarded them with suspicion. ‘I wouldn’t let you speak to him anyway,’ she said firmly. ‘He’s far too ill.’

  ‘What sort of illness?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Heart attack I think,’ she replied.

  ‘In which case he’ll probably be taken off to hospital,’ said Maguire.

  ‘And that is exactly what I’d like to happen.’ Lizzie Browne came down the central staircase at the back of the entrance hall. ‘But the wretched man won’t go.’

  ‘Can’t you make him?’ asked Steve.

  Lizzie regarded him with some asperity. ‘I can’t make patients do anything they don’t want to,’ she said. ‘It can be very frustrating.’

  ‘Do you think I could speak to him?’ asked Maguire.

  ‘Certainly not,’ snapped Lizzie. ‘He really is very ill. He’s in terrible AF. Atrial Fibrillation, for your information. His heart is racing, and uneven, and at the rate he’s going he could have a stroke at any moment.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?

  ‘Not waste time talking to you,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’m going into the study and I don’t want to be disturbed.
As he refuses to go into hospital, I’m going to try and set up a Private mini ICU here in his bedroom. We’ll hire in a cardiac nurse plus monitors and start treatment.’

  *

  Eventually Maguire and Steve left Avon Hall not having seen Harold Villiers for themselves, but being assured by Lizzie that the man in question would not be able to run off, as he wasn’t fit enough to walk, let alone run anywhere. ‘You can talk to him when he is well enough,’ she said.

  ‘Supposing he’s never fit enough. Supposing he pops his clogs,’ said Steve.

  ‘I’m not going to even think about that,’ replied Maguire. ‘You can go home now, after you’ve got hold of Kevin and told him to meet me in my office in the morning with all the information he’s gathered. I want everything on my desk at eight o’clock promptly. I’m going home now to have a large whisky.’

  Steve rang an ecstatic Ann who started straight away on the calamari. He left a brusque message for Kevin telling him to get his skates on if he hadn’t finished the task Maguire set him, as he was needed in the station first thing in the morning with the results of his efforts.

  Chapter 12

  Tom regarded Ruth with some exasperation. ‘Where have you been? I was worried about you when you didn’t come back this afternoon, and you weren’t at your lecture this morning either.’

  ‘I was out,’ said Ruth, sounding near to tears. ‘I went for a walk. I don’t have to ask your permission, do I? So shut up.’

  ‘Look, I know it’s awful that your cousin has been murdered. But it’s not my fault. I had nothing to do with it. It’s no use picking a permanent quarrel with me.’

  Ruth slumped down on one of the kitchen chairs, and put her head in her hands. ‘You don’t know how awful it is, Tom’

  He came and sat beside her, and put his arm around her. ‘I can guess,’ he said gently. ‘But come on. Life has to go on. Look it’s late now, and tomorrow we both have only one lecture, we can easily miss them. We can catch up later. So why don’t we take Tuesday off, and perhaps go down to the beach? We could go down to Bournemouth, or better still we could go over to Brownsea Island. I’ll get the old 2CV out from storage at the back of the garage. If the weather holds, we can open up the roof and enjoy the sunshine.’

 

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