The Mother's Day Mystery

by Peter Bartram

  "Then perhaps they'll believe the evidence of the kidnap note that was left at my girlfriend's flat. It was the note telling us that Shirley's mother had been kidnapped. It had distinctive black and red capital letters. I think we'll find it was typed on a typewriter in the Brighton branch of your bank."

  Fox gave me a flinty look. "Even if it were, doesn't mean to say I had anything to do with it."

  He looked away from me and tried to take Evangelina's hand. She withdrew it. Made a point of looking away. Fox turned towards Christabel, but she edged away from him.

  I said: "I would never have uncovered your drugs racket, Mr Fox, if Spencer Hooke hadn’t been killed."

  Fox flared: “I never killed Hooke.”

  “I accept that,” I said: "At first I thought the drug dealing provided the motive for killing Hooke. As several of you had discovered to your cost, young Hooke was an enterprising student who had a great career ahead of him as a chemist - or a blackmailer. He'd discovered Owen Griffiths's role in the drug ring and had been bleeding money from him for several weeks. I suspected he may also have realised Hobson was involved and had him on a retainer. But it wasn't Hobson's van that mercilessly mowed down Hooke on that dark and stormy night. So whose?"

  "Whatever happened to love thy neighbour?" wailed Purslowe. He slumped down in one of the pews.

  "Can you help us on that point?" I asked Georgina. "After all, you were one of Hooke's blackmail victims."

  "That had nothing to do with drugs," she said.

  "But you had your motive for killing him. And you have a car."

  "I stayed in the night Spencer died. I had a gentleman caller that evening."

  "Who was?"

  "I told you when you poked your nose into my shop it's none of your business."

  Ted's voice echoed around the church: "But it may become mine."

  Georgina looked at Ted, back at me. "It was Owen Griffiths," she said.

  "What were you doing? Showing him your dolly mixtures?" I asked.

  Georgina's eyes flashed. "No, we were screwing," she said.

  Clothilde gasped. Christabel giggled. Evangelina sneered.

  Fox shouted: "Tally ho!"

  Ted Wilson stroked his beard.

  Purslowe said: "Miss Staples, please remember where you are."

  She looked up, still angry. "Sorry, vicar."

  I said: "Miss Staples, did you know Owen Griffiths was the chemist for a drugs racket?"

  She shook her head.

  But you both had good reason to wish Hooke dead.

  "If wishes were horses, beggars might ride," she said.

  "Did you drive your car over the Bostal the night Hooke was killed?"

  "No. I've told you. I was with Owen."

  "Then how do you explain the damaged number plate on your Ford Anglia?"

  "That happened in Brighton earlier in the week. I tried to squeeze my car into an impossible parking slot in Ship Street. I dinged the car in front of me. I left a card under the car's windscreen wiper and the owner rang me the following day. He said the damage was light and I wasn't to worry about it. I can prove that. I have his name and number at the shop."

  "What were you doing in Brighton, Miss Staples?" Ted asked.

  "It was private business," she said angrily.

  "Nothing is private in a murder enquiry," he said.

  I moved over to Ted and whispered: "I'd leave it, if I were you. It won't be relevant."

  "Don't tell me how to run police business," he snapped. "Now, Miss Staples, I must ask you again. What were you doing in Brighton?"

  Georgina jumped to her feet. Hustled out of the pew. Stormed up to Ted. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes blazed with fury.

  "If you must know I was at a photographer's studio. Being shot in the nude." She pulled up her blouse. "People pay good money to photograph these tits."

  The others looked at one another goggle-eyed.

  Purslowe crossed himself, then put his hand over his eyes.

  Fox said: "By gad, what's the going rate? Do you charge individually or do they come as a pair?"

  Evangelina slapped his face. "You foul beast," she said.

  "I wonder if she takes cheques," Fox said.

  This was getting out of hand. I threw my hands in the air like John the Baptist and shouted: "This is not a carnival."

  Everyone fell silent. Looked a bit sheepish.

  Clothilde murmured: "Well, I never!"

  Georgina pulled back her blouse. Bowed her head and walked over to her seat.

  Ted said: "We know that Hooke was killed by a car. And it seems to me we've ruled out all the cars owned by members of the drugs ring and those associated with them."

  "All except one," I said.

  Ted's eyes crossed in a puzzled look.

  "Which one?" he asked.

  I strode over to the pew where Christabel was sitting.

  I said: "I think you can help us, Christabel. The first time I visited you at Natterjack Grange I noticed that your Austin Cambridge was being painted in psychedelic livery - just like your hippie bus. That would be the ideal way to hide any scratch marks or damage. But a proper forensic examination would reveal what's under the flower-power painting."

  Christabel's eyes darted anxiously from me to Ted Wilson. They flicked from Ted to Evangelina. Then to Clothilde. Christabel looked down at her hands. At the rings on her fingers and the bangles around her wrists.

  She looked back at me. Not anxious now. She'd made up her mind about something.

  She stood up. "Yes, I was driving my Austin Cambridge the night it hit Spencer Hooke," she said.

  Evangelina's hand reached for Christabel's. Clothilde stirred anxiously in the pew. Georgina buried her head in her hands. Fox looked ahead like he was staring at the end of the world.

  The air in the church became heavy with silence.

  Then Evangelina stood up. She edged out of the pew and tottered on six-inch stilettos towards Ted. Her high-heels clacked like castanets on the church's flagstones.

  She said: "There is no greater love than a daughter who wants to protect her mother - especially on Mother’s Day. But Christabel was not driving the car that killed Spencer Hooke. I was."

  Ted glanced at me. His eyes glazed with confusion.

  He started to speak but before he could get more than a couple of words out, Clothilde stood up. She swayed slightly and gripped the pew in front of her.

  She said: "It is time for the truth to be told. There are two noble women who wish to protect me for reasons I will never divulge. But I drove the car that killed Spencer Hooke."

  Ted turned to me and said: "What on earth is going on? Which one really did it?"

  I said: "You wait ages for a murderer to confess and then three come along together."

  Chapter 22

  Ted Wilson's shoulders slumped like a man who knows he's lost a battle.

  He said: "Now let's get this clear. Which of you three ladies was driving the car that killed Spencer Hooke?"

  "Me," Christabel said.

  "Me," Evangelina said.

  "Me," Clothilde said.

  "You can't all have been driving it," he shouted.

  "Inspector, please, remember where we are," Purslowe said. "Surely at this difficult time, we must remember the wise words of Augustine of Hippo who, when faced with a beggar who'd stolen a goat… Or was it Augustine of Goat and a stolen hippo… Oh dear, my mind has become a jumble."

  I said: "Perhaps I can help sort out that jumble, vicar."

  Ted said: "If you must." He sat down heavily in a pew.

  I walked over to where the three would-be murderers stood in a huddle.

  I said: "Christabel, Evangelina, Clothilde - you all had a motive for killing Spencer Hooke. But only one of you could have been driving the car."

  They all started to speak, but I held up my hand.

  I turned to Christabel. "Hooke was blackmailing you, wasn't he?"

  Christabel ignored the question and s
at down.

  "I'll take that as a 'yes'," I said. "When I first visited you at Natterjack Grange, you made a strong point of telling me that you disapproved of illegal drugs. I wondered about that as you'd travelled with the Merry Pranksters who'd had a reputation for juicing themselves with exotic substances. But I decided to take your denial at face value. After all, you have a lot to lose - Natterjack Grange itself."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Christabel said.

  "The night you showed Shirley and me into the library, the table where you wanted to put the tea tray was covered with papers. Ever helpful, I gathered up the papers to make way for the tea. I put the papers on a shelf, but I couldn't help noticing they included a fat envelope from the Sussex Coast Building Society and solicitors' letters about the debt outstanding on the estate."

  Christabel's eyes flashed angrily. "Snooper," she said.

  "I prefer the term investigative journalist," I said. "But let's not quibble over words. The brief glance I had of your papers showed that when you'd inherited the estate it was loaded with debt. You'd taken out a mortgage to clear those debts and try and put the place on a sounder financial footing. Good for you. But you knew that there are two points building societies insist on when they grant a mortgage. They want repayments made regularly and they won't allow you to use the place for anything illegal. If you do, they can call in the mortgage immediately."

  "I was making the repayments," Christabel said.

  "Yes, but you were also allowing the estate to be used for Zach's drug smuggling operation."

  "He deceived me. When I met him in New York, I thought he shared the ideals of the Merry Pranksters. Instead, he used us as cover for drug running. I didn't realise he was doing it at the Grange until that odious Spencer Hooke told me."

  "On that point, I believe you. Hooke had a way of ferreting out people's secrets. I suspect he picked up on Zach's trade during one of his visits to the Grange."

  "He demanded I pay him a monthly allowance, as he called it. The building society payment was already more than I could afford.”

  "And so, when an opportunity came to kill Hooke, Merry Prankster Christabel joined the conspiracy."

  "And drove the car," she said.

  "Now that wasn't a merry prank. But who raised the possibility of killing Hooke?"

  "I won't tell you."

  "Then let me tell you. It was your mother, Lady Evangelina, wasn't it?"

  Evangelina moved towards me and said: "I've already said I was responsible for killing Hooke. Leave Christabel out of it."

  I said: "I'd like to leave you all out of it, but in your different ways you're all in it. And you all had a strong motive for killing Spencer Hooke."

  "What kind of motive?" Evangelina snapped.

  "The most common kind. Money."

  "Psshaw! I'm a wealthy woman. As the only child of the late Earl and Countess of Herstmonceux, I've inherited their fortune."

  "But that's not quite correct, is it?"

  "Now you're being insolent."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "It's an occupational hazard. But the fact remains. You didn't inherit the Earl and Countess's fortune outright. You receive the income from a trust fund. We have an exceptionally bright business reporter on the Chronicle - Susan Wheatcroft. She told me about the trust fund and the restrictive covenants in it."

  Evangelina said: "The income from my trust fund would make your own salary look like the coppers in a pauper's begging bowl."

  I grinned. "I'm glad you mentioned that, Lady Evangelina, as I'll be expecting a big salary rise after landing this story. But to get back to the trust fund, in order to receive its monthly stipend, you have to be the birth daughter of the Earl and Countess - one of the covenants Susan mentioned."

  Lady Evangelina drew herself up to her full height (four feet, eleven inches) and said: "I hope you're not insinuating that I'm not the Earl's daughter."

  "Not at all. The late Earl was your father."

  I waited for Evangelina to reply. She said nothing. I suppose that was a pregnant pause. Appropriate under the circumstances.

  I added: "But the Countess was not your mother."

  I turned towards Clothilde. "Was she, Miss Tench-Hardie?"

  Clothilde collapsed into a pew. She buried her head in her hands. Her retching sobs echoed off the church's stark stone walls.

  Evangelina hurried to her side. Slid into the pew and embraced her. Clothilde reached into her handbag and took out her handkerchief. She wiped her eyes.

  Fox sat ramrod straight in his place. He stared at his wife like a man who's just seen his world collapse.

  He said: "Is this journalist Johnnie correct, Evie? You're not the full meat and potatoes?"

  Evangelina turned angrily towards him. "Shut up, you pompous prig. The only thing you care about is my money. Well, now there isn't any. So take that to your bank and stuff it in the vault."

  Clothilde wiped her eyes again and put the handkerchief back in her bag.

  I walked over to her and asked: "When did Spencer Hooke tell you he'd discovered the truth?"

  "Four weeks ago. It's been an agony for me and Evie ever since. How did you know?"

  "Christabel told me that when she moved into Natterjack Grange, she sent boxes of family papers to the County Records Office at Chichester. You told me how you'd introduced Hooke to family research and told him about the Records Office. You mentioned he'd visited it during half-term, about four weeks ago. I'd also learnt that Hooke had told one of his partners-in-crime at the grammar school that he thought he'd hit the big time in blackmail after his visit to the office. I thought this might have something to do with the family papers Christabel had sent - especially as she didn't know what was in the boxes. I've been puzzling over this conundrum until this morning when my landlady said something which provided an obvious solution."

  I turned to Clothilde: "How did you come to give birth to Evangelina?" I asked gently.

  Clothilde had composed herself. She spoke with a clear voice. "My father was a tenant farmer. He farmed land owned by the Earl. It was a hard life and not a rewarding one. He'd had three years of poor crops. Disease had riddled his herd of cows. But none of this interested the Earl. He wanted the rent and my father couldn't afford to pay. He faced being evicted from his farm. That's when the Earl proposed an alternative. The Countess could not have children but desired one so much that she pined away. The two of them decided that they should adopt a child. But they couldn’t go through the usual adoption process because that would make the matter public. There were legal issues in the deeds of the Earl’s estate that meant an adopted child would have trouble with inheritance. And the Earl wanted the estate and his fortune to pass down his own line."

  "And you were selected to bear the child?" I said.

  Clothilde nodded. "I was nineteen. I was treated no better than a farmyard heifer. The experience has lived with me ever since. I can barely go to bed at night without smelling the brandy stench and sweat of the Earl grunting on top of me."

  Christabel gasped. Purslowe crossed himself. Ted Wilson wrote something in his notebook.

  Georgina said: "Disgusting. He sounds like a rutting goat."

  Clothilde said: "I was sent away to a small seaside town in Somerset for the nine months of my pregnancy. I understood that the Countess had gone abroad so that the local people could not see that she hadn't carried the child she later claimed as her own. My Evangelina. She was taken from me fifteen minutes after her birth. I wasn't even allowed to choose her name. But I've come to love it - for all of my life, but from afar."

  "And you didn't speak out before, because the Earl paid you to keep silent," I said.

  "He set up a trust fund - the rich always seem to hide their wealth in trusts - which has paid me every month since the night of the conception. But on the strict understanding that I keep the secret. The money is my only income. I had no choice."

  "Until Hooke threatened to blow the deception wide open
," I said.

  "I felt betrayed after all I'd done for him. But I couldn’t afford to pay what he demanded. He was going to tell Evangelina. But the news couldn't come from him. Last week, I visited her at home and gave her the news. As gently as I could."

  "And so mother, daughter and granddaughter all had a motive to murder Spencer Hooke," I said. "But you couldn't all have been driving the car that hit him."

  "I drove my Austin Cambridge," Christabel said.

  "No, it was me," Evangelina said.

  "You both know I was behind the wheel," Clothilde said.

  Ted Wilson moved towards them. "Now look here," he said. "A car can't be driven by three people at once. If you don't tell me which of you really did it, I shall charge you all with wasting police time."

  I said: "That's not much of a threat, Ted, when they're already confessing to murder."

  "So unless two of them admit they're lying, we'll never know who did it?" he said.

  "It's time to reveal that." I said.

  Chapter 23

  I said: "Spencer Hooke's killing involved three things.

  "The first two were a car and a driver. But the third was the most important."

  "And what was that, clever clogs?" Fox said.

  "It was a plan," I said. "Three women discovered they had done foolish things - and now they needed a plan to save themselves."

  I quoted some Oliver Goldsmith: "When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?"

  I said: "I expect you know the answer to that question, Lady Evangelina."

  She stared straight ahead as she quoted in a clear voice: "The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom - is to die."

  A grim little smile twitched on her lips.

  "Except, Lady Evangelina, the plan was that none of the lovely women would die. It would be the tormentor who'd exploited their folly."

  "If you say so," she said.

  "And that is how the plan was born. I can see the three of you sitting around the teacups dreaming up scheme after scheme - each more improbable than the last. You couldn't shoot Hooke. None of you had a gun or knew how to use one. You couldn't stab him. I expect none of you can stand the sight of blood. Besides blood is difficult to wash off those expensive clothes you wear, Lady Evangelina. As for poisoning, that would involve slipping some deadly substance into Hooke's tea. And I expect the most deadly thing you could lay your hands on was the home-made fig jam I saw in Clothilde's kitchen when I visited.