‘Goings on?’
‘Well, yes. I can tell you because you’re a doctor and must get to know all these things about your patients.’
‘Yes,’ said Lizzie, wondering what was coming next.
‘Well, for a start they don’t sleep together. Now, that’s not right. I think you must agree with me on that. They are married after all. They should share a bed.’
Lizzie nodded and tried to compose a suitable expression of shock at this news without actually laughing. But she needn’t have bothered; Hilda Thorne was now in full flood with her gossip.
‘All this business about Mr Villiers going away, when all the time he was living down at the lodge by the eel trap. I knew that, because on Friday morning I went for an early walk with my Wally, we were exercising his young ferrets, and we saw Mr Villiers coming out of the lodge in his pyjamas of all things! He thought we didn’t see him, but we did. So I knew he was sleeping down there, but Mrs Villiers thought he was in China. Hah!’ she snorted. ‘How ridiculous, China! So I kept an eye on him after that.’
This woman should be on Maguire’s team thought Lizzie.
Hilda continued with her gossip. ‘He was down by the river all the time, and as soon as she was out, he’d come up on his bike and collect food, and his post, and do things on the computer. Janet Hastings knew of course, she helped him, and then Jade twigged, and didn’t know what to do. She asked me, of course, and I told her to keep quiet and just do her dusting as normal.’
‘Can you remember the days and times you saw him on his bicycle, when he came up to the Hall?’ asked Lizzie.
Hilda pondered for a moment. ‘Of course, I wasn’t there all the time, but I also did see him on his bike out on the Salisbury road a couple of times. It looked like he was going to Salisbury. Although I don’t know what he’d be doing out there.’
‘The Salisbury road,’ said Lizzie, thoughtfully. ‘I think the police might like to know that.’
‘Do you think so?’ Hilda looked excited. ‘Oh, of course I’ll tell them if they want to know.’
‘I’ll speak to Detective Chief Inspector Maguire,’ said Lizzie, ‘and I expect he’ll be in touch.’
‘Will I have to go down to the station?’ asked Hilda. She seemed quite eager.
‘Probably,’ replied Lizzie, and was rewarded with a delighted smile.
*
Kevin Harrison, carefully following his instructions, contacted Salisbury police. Maguire had said not to make it look too important, or words to that effect, so he decided to play it by the book. He contacted the Salisbury police unit concerning the missing car, telling them that they had a car at Stibbington being looked over by forensics. He didn’t tell Phil Hughes, the chap on the other end of the line, that he was the one who had found the burnt out car in the ballast hole at the back of Salisbury railway station. He also omitted mentioning the registration number, which of course gave the game away with regard to tracing the owner. Let him think the registration plate had gone missing for the moment, unless, of course, he asked, in which case he would have to tell him.
But Phil Hughes didn’t ask about the number plate. He merely said, ‘that’s on our patch. It should have been reported here, to The Water Meadows Police Station. You should have informed us first, not just moved it.’
Strictly speaking, this was true, and Kevin hesitated, then thought, Maguire could sort any dispute about that later. ‘I know, Phil,’ he said. ‘But you know my boss. When he gets his head round an idea there’s no stopping him, and he is convinced that this car is involved somehow in the murder of Jemima Villiers.’
‘Ah,’ said Phil, sounding interested. ‘And is it?’
‘Who knows,’ replied Kevin vaguely. ‘So what we were wondering is,’ he rushed on before Phil could ask any more questions, ‘could you contact Tom Maplin, quietly, and suggest that he get in touch with me. I’ll give you my mobile number. Then I’ll make an appointment for him to come and take a look at this old car, to see if it belongs to him.’
‘Ah,’ said Phil. ‘Softly, softly catchee monkey, eh?’
‘Something like that,’ replied Kevin. ‘By the way, who said that?’ he asked curiously.
‘Baden Powel, I believe. A saying from Ghana apparently. I learned it in the Scouts.’
‘Good heavens,’ said Kevin. ‘You learn something every day, don’t you?’
Phil laughed. ‘I’ll be in touch with this Thomas Maplin, then,’ he said, ‘and I’ll give him your mobile number. I’d be interested to know what happens. We’ve not had anything remarkable happening around here for ages. Only the usual tussles with the travellers about where to park their caravans, and then hassles over health and safety at the fairground. And now autumn is on its way, old Nellie Barnaby has turned up on our patch again. She’ll be looking for the Salvation Army to take her in for the winter.’ He paused, then said, ‘although why on earth her own flesh and blood can’t give her some sort of board and lodging in the bad weather I don’t know. They’ve got plenty of old barns on their land. But, no,’ he snorted. ‘It’s always my job to sort her out. It comes to something doesn’t it, when the height of my excitement comes from sorting out Nellie Barnaby and her old dog, Roger.’
Kevin laughed. ‘Yes, Nellie’s been wandering around here all the summer, sleeping in the woods and ditches, but never anywhere on the actual Avon Hall estate. Although, I know Bert Grayer turns a blind eye and lets her sleep in the stone hut down in the sheep field when the summer weather is bad. But she’s not a problem, and that old dog of hers doesn’t worry the sheep.’
‘Yes, let sleeping dogs lie, in more ways than one,’ said Phil, ‘and I’ll make sure they are both all right come the winter.’ He put down the phone.
Kevin made his way back to Maguire’s office and wondered about Nellie Barnaby. He’d heard all the gossip, of course. Some people said she was related to the Villiers. He supposed that was what Phil had meant when he’d said her own flesh and blood. He should have asked him. He would next time. He’d never actually spoken to her himself, but knew that sometimes one of the officers on duty in the High Street moved her away on market day. The stallholders complained that she put people off because she was dirty, but she’d been a fixture in the Stibbington area for as long as anyone could remember, and never did anyone any harm. She was always about, but invisible to most people, and he wondered whether anyone had thought of asking her if she’d seen anything suspicious. She was out in the woods and ditches day and night, with her ancient pram and piece of tarpaulin, which served as a tent, plus Roger the dog of course. He’d suggest it to Maguire.
Chapter 17
After Hilda Thorne had left, Lizzie wondered whether she should call Adam Maguire immediately. No, she decided, leave it. He’d think she was interfering; although he wouldn’t actually say so, but now that she was beginning to know him better, she’d got wise to his moods. She’d have to bide her time and wait to tell him what Hilda knew about Harold until she saw him. Not that there was much to tell really, not when she came to analyse it. Only that Hilda had seen him out and about on his bicycle, around Avinton, and on the Salisbury road. But what did that mean? Probably not a lot, because Maguire knew now that Harold had never gone to China or anywhere else. The furthest his travels appeared to have taken him was to the damp confines of the eel trap lodge.
Eventually though, fatigue overwhelmed her again, despite her sleep earlier on in the afternoon, rational thought became impossible. Lizzie decided to lie on the bed for half an hour; the moment her head touched the pillow she fell sound asleep again.
*
Unbeknown to Maguire, Amelia Villiers was waiting at Stibbington station all the time they were discussing her husband’s death. No one was aware of this. She was sitting in the small side room beside the desk sergeant’s counter, just waiting. She demanded nothing, not even a cup of tea or coffee, and didn’t ask to speak to anyone. She just sat. Fred Burton was still duty desk sergeant and was wondering when someon
e might come along and tell him what to do with her, but no one arrived. He asked her once if she needed anything, and took it as a no when she shook her head. After that, he forgot about her and got on with his various tasks. It was Millie Jones who eventually tried to help. She noticed her when she was passing by the open doorway in the late afternoon, and thought she looked a bit forlorn.
‘Hello Mrs Villiers,’ she said, entering the small room, but Amelia Villiers’ gaze was vacant. She looked straight through her with uncomprehending glazed eyes; Millie realized immediately that the woman was in some kind of delayed shock. She sat down beside her. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked gently. She knew all about the gossip concerning the Villiers’ marriage, and about the general bad blood in the family. She also knew that many people disliked the Villiers family because of their snobbish ways, and the fact that they had plenty of money, but never lifted a finger to help a member of their own flesh and blood. Nellie Barnaby might have gone off the rails many years ago, but now she was just a harmless tramp who often went hungry, and in most people’s opinion the Villiers family should have looked out for her. But at this moment Millie felt sorry for Amelia Villiers. The woman had lost two members of her family to violent and unexpected deaths within a week, and that would be too much for most people. It has been too much for her thought Millie, and took her hand. ‘Perhaps we should leave here, and go and find a quiet spot for a cup of tea,’ she said.
‘I like tea,’ said Amelia Villiers in a low voice.
‘Tea it is then.’ Millie smiled at her and added, ‘come with me,’ and taking her by the hand led her away as one might lead a small child. Once in a secluded corner of the canteen she put through a quick call to Adam Maguire.
‘I’ve got Mrs Villiers here,’ she said. ‘I’m giving her a cup of tea, but I’m not happy about her going back to Avon Hall alone. She’s behaving in an odd manner. I think a doctor should see her.’
Adam groaned. ‘I suppose we ought to call the police doctor, but the one on duty is miles away at the other end of the county dealing with an RTA.’ He thought for a moment, ‘I’ll call Lizzie Browne, Mrs Villiers is her patient. Don’t you worry, Millie, I’ll do it. You just stay there with Amelia Villiers.’ Knowing Lizzie had gone home to rest, he called Honeywell Health Centre and spoke to Dick Jamieson.
‘Quite right to call me,’ said Dick. ‘I think we’ll give Lizzie a break from the Villiers family for the moment. I’ll get Peter Lee to come and see her at the station, and take her home if necessary. He’s a sound, no nonsense man. He’ll deal with whatever is the problem.’
Maguire put down the phone, glad that he’d made the call.
*
At Stibbington police station Maguire called a press conference for 6.30pm that evening. He’d purposely left it that late, reckoning that the local news would have gone out on the television and would therefore miss it. No bad thing, it would keep a few reporters from hustling them for more information. Besides, it would also keep Danny Bailey pleased because he’d have plenty of time to get it in the weekend edition of the Stibbington Times. Also, Maguire wanted to be able to get Janet Hastings out of the way before they all went off duty. After a word with Superintendent Warren, they decided to send her home for the time being. Her own home, not Avon Hall where she had been working and living. Her mother lived in Weymouth in Dorset, and Janet wanted to go home until “everything had blown over,” as she said. Maguire had his doubts that it would ever “blow over”, but Millie Jones had gone back to Avon Hall with her to collect her things, then taken her to the train station at Piddlehurst where she’d caught the Weymouth train. She refused to take the car, saying she didn’t feel like driving, and besides the car wasn’t hers, it belonged to the Villiers family.
After the press statement, and because he hoped that there might even be something he could add before the local paper was finally put to bed on Friday, Maguire decided that he’d drop Danny Bailey a few harmless hints. It was always good to have the press, especially Danny Bailey, on his side if possible. He was pleased that Lizzie’s part in the events of Harold Villiers’ death had been kept to the minimum. They’d done the best they could in that respect.
He stood outside Stibbington Police Station, the usual place to give press statements, and read out the piece that he and Superintendent Warren had prepared. Afterwards there weren’t many questions. A young cub reporter from the Bournemouth Echo asked if it was absolutely positive that Harold Villiers had died of natural causes.
‘Yes,’ said Maguire firmly. ‘Dr Phineas Merryweather carried out the post mortem and he is quite certain.’
‘Funny place to die though,’ said Danny Bailey suspiciously. ‘I gather he died in the eel trap lodge. And that a gun was involved.’
Steve Grayson flashed an anxious look at Maguire. A tricky question, he thought. But Maguire rose to the occasion. ‘We none of us can choose where we are going to die,’ he said smoothly. ‘When the moment comes, it happens, and in this case, as Dr Merryweather has stated quite categorically, a massive haemorrhagic stroke killed Harold Villiers.’
‘Yes, but the gun went off.’ Danny Bailey persevered. ‘What about the gun?’
‘The gun had nothing to do with Mr Villiers’ death. It went off by accident, but it did not kill him or anyone else thank goodness.’
‘But why did he have the gun there in the first place?’ Danny persisted.
Again, Maguire rose to the occasion, and Steve Grayson took note. This, he thought, was how to parry difficult questions. ‘That,’ said Maguire, ‘is something we may never know. It was Mr Villiers’ gun; he had a licence for it, and kept it locked away securely at the Eel Lodge. Why he took it out that day and for what reason we cannot ask him, because unfortunately, he is dead.’ Maguire turned and mounted the steps up into the entrance of the police station. ‘And that gentlemen, and lady’ – there was one teenage girl who’d driven over from the Southampton Southern Evening Echo for the press statement – ‘is all I have to say at the moment. When there are further developments we will let you know.’
‘Like telling us who murdered young Jemima Villiers,’ said Danny Bailey on an aggressive note. ‘And what connection this latest death has got to do with that. That’s what I want to know. Why did he go down to the eel trap lodge in the first place? Funny place to go. Very lonely down by the river.’
‘That’s all been explained in the statement I’ve just issued,’ said Maguire steadily, changing his mind about dropping helpful hints to Danny. ‘I cannot explain Mr Villiers’ reasons for visiting the Eel Lodge, nor for getting the gun out. Neither do I know whether this has anything to do with Jemima Villiers’ murder. When I do know, rest assured you will be one of the first to know.’
He turned abruptly and entered the station. ‘He always must have the last damned word,’ he muttered to Steve as they went back through the front door into the building.
Steve grinned. ‘You handled him very well, sir,’ he said.
‘Yes, I did, didn’t I,’ said Maguire, with a sudden smile as he relaxed. ‘I reckon that deserves a beer, don’t you?’
Steve agreed, they’d been on the go since first thing that morning. A pint of New Forest Ale, he thought, would go down very well. ‘We could try out the Chequers on the High Street opposite here. Kevin tells me the new landlord can pull a good pint. He’s cleaned all the pipes through so it’s not like the soup the other chap used to serve up and call real ale.’
Maguire smiled at the description of the beer. Kevin was known for his predilection for good quality real ale. ‘Right, the Chequers it is,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet you over there at the bar. I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make first. You can ask Kevin if he wants to come, and Millie Jones as well, if she’s free.’
When he got back to his office, he rang Lizzie.
*
The bedside phone ringing woke Lizzie. It was nearly 7.00 pm in the evening. She’d had another long sleep. What on earth is the matter with me,
she thought grumpily, half awake and half asleep. ‘Hello.’
The moment he clicked on her number Adam wondered whether he should have rung Lizzie. She might not like being disturbed again, her day had been disturbed enough. Maybe he should leave it for now. But it was too late, she was answering.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello, it’s Adam Maguire here. Just a quick call to tell you that we’ve issued the press statement. I’m afraid this means that you may get a call from Danny Bailey, as we had to mention the fact that you were attending Mr Villiers just before his demise.’
‘Demise!’ said Lizzie. ‘That’s a fancy word for dying.’
Adam paused. She sounded bad tempered. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I am,’ snapped Lizzie, and was immediately sorry for snapping. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s the Villiers family I suppose. They are getting me down.’
‘Don’t worry about them.’ Maguire was glad that he’d steered Amelia Villiers and her problems away from Lizzie. No need for her to know anything about that yet. ‘We’ve stopped work for today,’ he said, ‘and I’m having a quick drink with the team at the Chequers. I can’t stay long because I need to collect Tess and take her for a walk. I wondered if you’d like to take a break, come for a walk, and then have supper somewhere.’ It was a tentative invitation - that was why he included Tess; he knew Lizzie liked the dog.
To his surprise she answered immediately. ‘You’re on,’ she replied. ‘I could do with some fresh air and exercise. Where shall we meet?’
‘Go to my place. You can leave your car there, and we could drive to the harbour at Mudeford, and have a stroll. I believe there’s a new café opened up at the end of the beach there. Do you fancy fish and chips?’
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