Adam laughed. ‘Take him round to the vet in Harbour Lane. Jenny Abrahams is a soft touch for anything with four legs. She’ll take him in, for now anyway.’
‘Even if he’s as smelly as he is?’
Adam laughed again. ‘Jenny won’t mind that. She’ll have him in a bath before he knows what’s happening. However, let’s get back to business. What did you do with the shoe? Or is it in the hospital?’
‘Nope,’ said Lizzie. ‘I have learned quite a bit from my acquaintance with you. I have it. I took it off her foot with a pair of tweezers, so my fingerprints and DNA won’t be on it, and then I put it in a sterile dressing bag and there it awaits your orders.’
‘I’ll send Kevin round to Honeywell Health Centre to collect it, if that’s all right with you.’
Lizzie was a little disappointed that he didn’t ask her to drop it into the police station, because then perhaps she’d find out what else was going on regarding the case. However, she kept quiet merely saying, ‘tell Kevin to ask for Tara Murphy, she’ll direct him to me.’
Left alone for a moment, Maguire put through a call to his main contact in Social Services, an elderly, near to retiring, but eminently sensible woman called Ann Farrow. She was not surprised when he mentioned Nellie Barnaby. ‘A & E have already been on to me,’ she told him. ‘I’m trying to find Nellie a suitable place for a temporary stay. Of course she won’t stay a moment longer than she has to. The moment she can hobble away she’ll be off and out back on the road.’
‘Let me know where she ends up,’ said Adam. ‘I’d like to have a little chat with her.’
‘Why?’ Ann was interested. ‘Surely she’s not a suspect in any of your cases is she? Although,’ she added on a thoughtful note, ‘of course, it’s her family who are mixed up in the murder and Harold Villiers suspicious death.’
Maguire was silent for a moment. Had he heard correctly? ‘Do you mean the Villiers’ family?’ he asked.
‘Of course, I do. She is a Villiers. That’s her name. She used to shack up with a tramp called Barnaby, and took his name, but never married him. He died years ago, used to drink meths, that finished him off. At least Nellie sticks to scrumpy.’
‘But how is she related…?’ Maguire was bemused.
‘She’s Harold’s sister. Went up to Oxford to read classics, met Barnaby there, both brilliant students apparently, but they took to the bottle and drugs and the rest is history. She doesn’t do drugs now, though. Just scrumpy.’
‘Poor woman.’
‘Huh,’ snorted Ann. ‘Nothing poor about her. She’s happy in her own way. And she’s certainly as happy as the rest of the Villiers family. I’ve always thought a wicked fairy must have been standing by at their births. Got to dash now. Byee.’ The phone clicked into silence.
Maguire sat looking at the dead phone, and then switched it off. The saying there’s nowt as queer as folk was very true he reflected.
Chapter 19
Adam Maguire despatched Kevin off to Honeywell Health Centre to retrieve the shoe Lizzie had found, and then settled himself with the paperwork from Phineas and the computer printout of the forensic results from the remains of the car. He began to read through them, and groaned. Was it too much to ask that sometimes things followed an expected and normal path? It seemed that in this case, it was. Phineas had scrawled a private note to Maguire and pinned it to the top of the pile so that he couldn’t miss it. Sorry old chap, not a trace of Harold Villiers. Nary a whisker or a fingerprint. Seems he never went anywhere near the car.
Steve Grayson walked through the door; he pulled a face when he saw Maguire’s expression. Without a word, Maguire passed him the sheets from the top of the pile, and then turned the computer screen around so that they both could see it.
Steve glanced at the paperwork, and then concentrated on the notes on the screen. ‘Blast,’ he said. ‘Damn and blast!’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ said Maguire. ‘I was so sure that Harold Villiers was our killer. However, the forensics results prove that he didn’t drive the car, in fact hasn’t been anywhere near the wretched thing. But they also prove that Jemima’s body was transported in the car we’ve found, as we suspected. There’s plenty of her blood, hair, and clothing fibres, to prove that. You name it, it’s there.’
‘And there’s also DNA from Tom and Ruth,’ said Steve slowly. He traced his finger down the second page. ‘Plus there are a lot of other people too. All unknown to us.’
‘At the moment,’ said Maguire. ‘Although they are probably other students. Various people he gave lifts to when the car was on the road. Nothing to do with any of this, but we’ll have to trace them all the same. I wonder if Fergus Garrick is among them. We’ll get his DNA checked as soon as he arrives.’
He’s clutching at straws thought Steve, but remained silent.
‘The car was taken off the road officially last September, at the beginning of the uni term,’ mused Maguire. ‘When Fergus and Jemima were still very much an item, so he might have used the car and known where it was kept off road. He could have easily used the car without anyone knowing, as according to Tom he didn’t bother to check up on it once he’d stuck it in the garage. Salisbury police say it’s been standing in the ramshackle garage at the side of the house ever since, no point in checking the mileage as Tom never kept a record of anything. Yes, Fergus could easily have taken it.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Steve slowly. ‘But it seems unlikely.’
‘It is a possibility though,’ Maguire replied, determinedly sticking with his new theory. ‘A possibility,’ he repeated.
‘Well, it was certainly driven the night of the murder, there’s no doubt about that, and the question is who drove it?’ mused Steve. ‘If only Lizzie had been nearer, she might have been able to see the driver.’
‘If, if, if... This case is full of “ifs,”’ said Maguire despondently.
*
Tom insisted Ruth come with them to Stibbington police station, even though she was most reluctant, and said she had a splitting headache. ‘It will look very strange if you don’t come,’ he said. ‘It will look as if you don’t care about any of this. But, don’t worry; you won’t have to say anything. After all, it’s me and Simon they want to see today, and it’s my car, not yours, which they’ve found. At least they think it it’s mine, I haven’t confirmed it yet but I think it must be, and even if it is, we don’t know yet that it is the car involved in Jem’s murder. We don’t know anything, apart from the fact that my car was stolen from our garage, and the police think they’ve found it.’
Ruth didn’t look convinced, and objected. ‘My DNA will be on it if it is your car.’
‘Of course it will be,’ said Tom comfortably. ‘So will mine.’ He squeezed her and gave her a quick kiss. ‘That’s nothing to worry about. It’s not us they’re looking for. They will be looking to see if someone else used it. So come on. Simon is giving us a lift to the station. And don’t forget they’ve called Fergus Garrick in for an interview this morning as well as us. Maybe he drove the car.’
‘I don’t think that’s very likely,’ muttered Ruth.
‘Neither do I, but you never know. So get a move on, otherwise we’ll be late, and we don’t want to upset the police, do we?’
*
From, his office window Maguire looked out into the yard at the side of the station where visitors parked their cars. He saw Simon’s car pull in and its three occupants climb out. No sign of Mrs Villiers Maguire noted, and breathed a sigh of relief. According to Dr Peter Lee’s opinion, she needed the services of a psychiatrist, or a psychoanalyst, as she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. However, as she was refusing any help or medication, apart from sleeping pills, there was not much he could do. No, much better she stayed at Avon Hall for the time being, and anyway nothing pointed towards her being involved in the deaths of either Jemima or Harold.
Watching Simon, Tom and Ruth walked around the corner towards the main entrance of the sta
tion, Maguire decided that he’d interview Tom first, as soon as he’d identified the car. From his position at the window he saw one of the traffic police detach Tom from the group and take him off towards the yard where the car was being kept. Steve followed them. The other two made their way into the station. He would talk to Ruth and Simon later; although he doubted they’d have anything fresh to say, but the Super wanted them included, and he needed to keep him happy. Fergus Garrick hadn’t appeared yet, but Maguire wasn’t surprised. There’d been an accident with a forest pony at The Fighting Cocks junction in the middle of the forest and traffic was at a standstill both ways. But the longer Fergus waited to be interviewed maybe the more nervous he might get. Maguire instinctively felt that Fergus Garrick would be an antagonistic and tricky customer, although he had no logical reason to feel that way and it went against his customary calm approach. This case is getting me down he thought.
*
Lizzie made it back from the hospital to the admin meeting at the Health Centre just before it closed.
‘Oh,’ said Dick. She could see he was disappointed at her arrival, and guessed he’d been keeping his fingers crossed that she wouldn’t make it in time to speak to her proposal. ‘We’ve decided to leave the repeat prescription matter until the next meeting, because then you will be able to give us the benefit of your experience with the system in London.’
Lizzie hid a smile. Crafty old devil. But never mind, she had other things to worry about and she wanted some information from him. It was something one of the Health Care Assistants had alerted her to in A & E when she’d accompanied Nellie through into the hospital. So she accepted his excuse gracefully.
‘That’s fine by me,’ she said. ‘We can talk about that later. However, now I’d like a quick word with you in your room. It’s about Nellie Barnaby.’
Once in Dick’s consulting room she got straight to the point, and Dick, who’d been in practice in Stibbington for more than thirty years knew all the answers.
‘Oh yes, she’s Harold’s sister all right,’ he said. She’s older than him, and must be about seventy five now, and it’s true she has money. I believe it’s in one of those posh London banks, Coutts, or something like that. Mr Randall, of Randall, Randall and Randall would know. He’s dealt with the Villiers’ affairs for as long as I can remember.’
Lizzie was making notes. ‘Which Mr Randall does she deal with?’
‘Good heavens, there’s only one now, and he must eighty years old if he’s a day. Although he still plays golf, but his handicap is not as good as it was. Even Phineas can beat him now, and he’s a very erratic player.’
‘I shall never get used to everyone working and playing golf until they are in their dotage,’ muttered Lizzie.
‘You probably will, if you stay here long enough,’ said Dick. He then went on to fill Lizzie in on Nellie’s history. Her disastrous love affair as a student with Barnaby. The drugs first, then the alcohol, her downward slide into the gutter, and her fierce rows with Harold and Amelia, followed by her eventual end as the local tramp. However her money apparently stayed where it was, untouched in the bank. ‘A regular fortune, according to Freddie Randall, and a bone of contention within the family who’d like to get their hands on it,’ said Dick. ‘Nellie Barnaby doesn’t need charity.’
Lizzie laid down her pencil and notepad and looked at Dick. ‘This means that I and social services can arrange for her to go into somewhere comfortable, with her dog, until she’s able to get about again. Do you think she’ll agree?’
‘She probably will if she can take the dog,’ said Dick. ‘And there’s always a chance that once she’s slept in a warm comfortable bed again, she might find it preferable to a piece of tarpaulin and a bed of leaves.’
‘She will,’ said Lizzie firmly. ‘I shall persuade her.’
‘I can see you’re on that white charger of yours again,’ said Dick as she left the room. He gazed at the closed door of his consulting room. ‘Nellie Barnaby, you don’t stand a chance,’ he muttered.
*
Ruth and Simon stayed out in the main reception room of the police station, and sat on two hard wooden chairs by the duty sergeant’s counter. Millie Jones arrived and gave them each a paper cup full of coffee.
‘At least I assume it’s coffee,’ said Simon after sniffing it. Ruth didn’t reply. Just stared moodily ahead, and sipped the hot brown liquid.
Tom Maplin eventually followed Steve Grayson into interview room No 1, and sat behind the small wooden desk, which was against the wall. It was opposite a dark window. He looked at it, and wondered if it was one of the special windows they always showed in TV crime series, where a criminal was questioned, and was watched from outside by a crowd of police officers. He felt nervous. Although I haven’t done anything wrong, he told himself, so why am I nervous? But the thought didn’t help. He was still nervous.
Steve Grayson sat opposite him and said nothing, and then after a few moments, the door opened and Maguire came in. He looks very serious, thought Tom, and felt even more uneasy.
Steve switched on the tape recorder and Maguire began to speak. ‘I am Detective Superintendent Maguire, and this is my Sergeant, Steve Grayson.’
Tom nodded. ‘I know. I’ve met him at my digs in Salisbury.’
‘Would that be the same address from which the car was taken?’
Tom nodded again. ‘Yes.’
‘The car had a SORN registration and was uninsured. So why were you going to take it out on the road? Were you going to drive it on the public highway that day?’
Tom shuffled about uneasily on his chair and then decided he might as well be honest and admit he had been intending to drive it untaxed and uninsured. He looked down at the table, and muttered. ‘Because, Ruth Villiers, my girlfriend, was very upset. Her cousin had been murdered, and then her father died the day before yesterday, and I thought a picnic by the sea would cheer her up.’
‘Even though the car wasn’t ready for the road?’ asked Steve. Tom nodded speechlessly, and kept his head down. Steve persevered. ‘I suppose you were hoping to get away with it.’ Tom nodded again.
‘Did you know that your car is the car that was used in the murder of Jemima Villiers?’ asked Maguire very quietly.
Tom drew in a sharp breath and looked up at Maguire. ‘What?’ he whispered.
Maguire leaned back and let Steve take over again. ‘It’s the car Jemima Villiers was picked up in; it’s the car her dead body was carried in from the murder spot to the woodland path through the Avon Hall estate to the icehouse.’
Tom’s face was ashen. ‘How do you know?’ he whispered.
Neither Maguire nor Steve replied to his question. Instead, Maguire said, ‘Did you kill Jemima Villiers?
Tom began to cry. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘No, no. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. No. No.’
Neither Maguire nor Steve spoke for a moment. Then Adam Maguire said, ‘The interview is terminated at eleven forty-five am,’ and switched off the recorder.
*
Afterwards Maguire walked slowly back to his office. He’d given orders that Tom Maplin should remain in the interview room for the time being, with a constable as a guard, and that someone should offer him another cup of tea or coffee. ‘Ask Millie to do it,’ he said to Steve.
But Millie objected. ‘I know I’m a woman,’ she grumbled to Steve, ‘but I’ve passed the same exams as every other constable, and I really don’t see why I should always be the one to fetch and carry tea and coffee. I’m not a waitress.’
Steve buckled beneath Millie’s fierce glare, and caught Kevin who’d just come into the station, and asked him to get Tom a cup of something.
‘What,’ asked Kevin, feeling aggrieved that he’d missed the interview. ‘How do I know whether he wants tea or coffee?’
‘Ask him,’ snapped Steve. What was the world coming to when all the juniors were questioning him?
Kevin poked his head into the interview room and found
Tom still in a state of shock. ‘They think I did it,’ he whispered to Kevin.
‘Did you?’
‘No, no. of course I didn’t. But it’s my car they found, and my DNA is on it.’
‘Well, of course it will be on it if it’s your car. But if you really didn’t do it, don’t worry about it. Maguire always gets the right man in the end. Now, do you want tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please,’ said Tom, marginally cheered by Kevin’s statement.
*
In Maguire’s office, Steve and Maguire sat staring again at the forensic evidence. ‘It’s not much help is it,’ said Maguire slowly. ‘And somehow I cannot bring myself to believe Tom Maplin is a murderer.’
‘Or Ruth,’ said Steve. ‘She’s not the murdering type either.’ He looked through the forensic results again. ‘No mention of Simon here. Presumably, he never even sat in the Citroen, so he doesn’t feature in our calculations.’
‘That’s true,’ Maguire said, ‘But Ruth has got a motive. If she had seen that letter from Jemima to her father, she would have realized that she has no claim to the Avon Hall Estate because she is no blood relative to the Villiers. I wonder if she knows that.’
‘When she does, it will be a bitter blow,’ said Steve slowly. It’s bound to be.’
He desk phone rang and Adam picked it up. It was the duty desk officer. ‘I have a Fergus Garrick here,’ he told Maguire. ‘He says you want to speak to him.’
‘I do,’ said Maguire. My sergeant Steve Grayson will come and get him.’ Putting the phone down he turned to Steve. Get Fergus Garrick, but first organise a DNA sample and get it sent off to forensics asap. I know it’s not going to help much today as it always takes three days to get the result, but it might come in handy later.’
Steve disappeared and Adam leaned back in his chair. He made a decision. He’d get the four of them in together, Simon, Tom, Ruth and Fergus; see how they reacted with each other. Especially Fergus Garrick, who was the unknown outsider. When Steve returned he told him, ‘We’ll put all our cards on the table. We’ll tell them everything we know for certain, and then sit back and see what reaction that generates.’
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