‘He is a very wise man,’ says Dmytro. ‘And he knows a lot about football.’
They stop at Tebay services again. This time they are attempting to do the ten-hour drive in one go, so rest stops are essential. Benedict, Edwin and Julie sit outside the farm shop drinking coffee. Ducks patrol the grass in search of crumbs. Natalka, Dmytro and Duncan are smoking and vaping at a different table.
‘Why did Harbinder dash off like that?’ says Julie. ‘She hardly said goodbye.’
‘She asked Natalka for Maria’s home address,’ says Benedict. ‘Maria’s one of the carers. I think she’s doing some freelance work for Harbinder’s family at the moment. Maybe Harbinder’s mother has taken a turn for the worse. I hope not.’
‘I must say, I was surprised that Harbinder didn’t share the news with us,’ says Edwin. ‘Even DI Harris talked quite openly in front of me. He said he valued my input.’
This is the third time Edwin has mentioned this remark. Benedict is pleased that Jim recognised Edwin’s contribution but, even so, try as he does to be charitable, it’s a little galling. After all, Benedict is the one who likes solving mysteries. He was the one who spotted Nigel leaving the hotel with Lance, who worked out the old school connection. He’s been wracking his brains over the case. And he has a flow chart to prove it.
‘I wonder when we’ll get back,’ says Julie. ‘I told the dog-sitter about ten. I can’t wait to see Arthur again.’
‘I’ll get some coffee for Natalka,’ says Benedict, before Julie can start showing him dog pictures. ‘I know how she likes it.’
‘I bet you do,’ says Edwin.
* * *
NATALKA LETS HIM drive for the next stretch. It’s been years since Benedict has been behind the wheel of a car. He passed his test at seventeen because his father informed him ‘that’s what men do’. Benedict had actually enjoyed driving and was rather pleased to pass his test first time, unlike Hugo who took three attempts. But there hadn’t been much opportunity to drive at the seminary or, later, in the monastery. And now he can’t afford a car. Hugo, of course, owns some four-wheel-drive monster with blacked-out windows.
It’s quite scary at first but he soon gets the hang of it, enjoying the sensation of speed and autonomy. The huge sign saying ‘M1 and The South’ makes him laugh out loud.
‘The south,’ he says. ‘It’s such an over-simplification.’
‘I like the south,’ says Natalka and the words sound incredibly sexy in her incredibly sexy accent: palm trees, hammocks, drinks with umbrellas in them. ‘I live in the south of Ukraine. You must visit one day.’
‘I’d love to,’ says Benedict hoarsely.
‘We’ll all go together,’ says Dmytro.
‘Is it all right for you to go back?’ asks Benedict. He can’t see Dmytro but he can hear him sigh.
‘One day,’ he says. ‘One day I’ll go back. When the Russians have gone.’
‘It’s incredible how long wars go on,’ says Benedict. ‘I was reading Conan Doyle the other day and he says that Dr Watson has just got back from the war in Afghanistan. Awful to think that there’s still war there.’
‘Crimea too,’ says Natalka. ‘You learn about Florence Nightingale in history books but it’s still going on. Do you know, I read that animals are thriving in the area of Ukraine around Chernobyl. Anything, even deadly radiation, is better for animals than living near people.’
‘Human beings are monsters,’ says Dmytro, but he says it with a laugh in his voice. A few seconds later Natalka switches on Radio 1 again.
* * *
EVEN WHEN YOU’RE sitting beside the woman you love, the M1 is a dreary motorway. They stop for lunch (toasted ciabattas with molten mozzarella) and, afterwards, Natalka takes the wheel again. Now they don’t seem to feel like talking. Natalka listens to music, Dmytro snoozes in the back and Benedict reads Laocoön until it’s too dark to see.
‘Doesn’t it make you feel sick to read in a car?’ says Natalka.
‘No,’ says Benedict. ‘It’s one of my few super powers.’
He loves it when he makes her laugh.
They stop again for coffee and chocolate brownies that taste of charcoal. Benedict reads the acknowledgements page of Laocoön while Edwin and Julie queue up for refills.
‘Lance doesn’t thank many people,’ he says. ‘Nothing about his agent or editor.’
‘What was the thing he said about Peggy?’ says Natalka, finishing off brownie crumbs with a moistened finger.
‘Peggy Smith, sine quibus.’
‘Without whom.’
‘Yes. There’s only one other acknowledgement. ‘Love and thanks to the bay window set.’
‘Bow window set?’ says Julie, putting her tray down. ‘That’s in Georgette Heyer. They were dandies who used to sit in the window seat of their club. On St James’s Street, I think. Sophy, in The Grand Sophy, shocks everyone by driving her high-perch phaeton down St James’s Street.’
‘Lance Foster didn’t strike me as a Georgette Heyer fan,’ says Benedict. ‘I wonder what he meant by “bay window set”. Although . . . I wonder . . .’
‘What?’ says Natalka.
‘Bay window can be an answer to a cryptic crossword clue,’ says Benedict. ‘The clue is something like “having a sea view perhaps” because, you know, bay and sea.’
‘Please tell me that you’re not going to start talking about anagrams again,’ says Edwin, sitting down with his tea. ‘I’m too old.’
‘It’s not an anagram,’ says Benedict, ‘but it might be a clue. Come on, Edwin, what comes to mind when I say “Seaview”?’
‘A particularly depressing block of flats,’ says Edwin.
‘Exactly. What if Lance’s mother—or relative, at any rate—lived in Seaview Court? What if she knew Peggy and Weronika? What if they were the bay window set? There are bay windows in Seaview Court. Peggy had one.’
‘And that’s how Lance knew Peggy,’ says Natalka. ‘He never did tell us.’
‘We should tell Harbinder,’ says Benedict. ‘It’s a link.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever see Harbinder again,’ says Julie. She sounds rather fed-up and gets out her phone, maybe to cheer herself up with pictures of Arthur.
* * *
EDWIN COMES WITH them for the last leg of the journey. Duncan is going to take Julie to her flat in Hove, stay at a B and B nearby, and then drive back to Aberdeen the next morning. This explanation is the most any of them have heard him speak the whole day.
It’s quite cosy to finish the journey with Edwin, the way they started it. It seems much more than six days ago that they set out in the dawn playing Who Am I and talking about Gretna Green. In that week, Benedict has discovered a dead body, thrown himself in the path of a bullet and had sex. A pretty memorable few days in anyone’s book, even one written by a crime writer. He looks at himself in the passenger mirror, wondering if the change in him would be visible to an outsider.
‘What are you smiling at?’ says Edwin from the back seat. ‘I could do with a laugh.’ Edwin seems rather depressed at the thought of returning to Seaview Court.
‘Just thinking about everything that’s happened.’
‘Yes, it’s been a strange few days,’ says Edwin.
‘It’s been wonderful,’ says Natalka.
She must mean finding Dmytro, thinks Benedict, but it would be nice to think that last night played some part in Natalka’s positive assessment.
‘I wonder if we’ll ever know what happened to Lance Foster,’ says Edwin. ‘I got the impression that DI Harris wasn’t going to keep Harbinder informed. Mind you, he did say that he valued my input . . .’
‘Let’s play Who Am I?’ says Benedict.
It takes them some time to explain the game to Dmytro and almost the whole of the M25 to guess Benedict’s choice of Sammy Davis Junior. Then Edwin has a similar success with Joan Bakewell. By now they are on the Shoreham Road, the sea ink-black in the distance.
‘I can’t wait
to see where you live,’ says Dmytro.
‘It’s nothing special,’ says Natalka. ‘My landlady’s looking forward to meeting you though. Her husband will probably ask you lots of questions about Ukraine.’
Benedict feels his heart sink. Natalka will drop him at his digs and then this adventure will be over. Maybe he and Natalka will go back to being just friends, meeting at the Shack for a comradely cappuccino every day.
Seaview Court is the first stop. Edwin looks rather sad wheeling his suitcase up to the front door but, once he has keyed in the code, he looks round and gives them a jaunty wave.
‘Poor Edwin,’ says Natalka. ‘He’ll be lonely after this. We must look after him.’
She really is an angel.
Natalka yawns as she backs out of the car park. It’s nearly eleven o’clock. All too soon they are outside Benedict’s apartment.
‘See you around, Benny,’ says Natalka.
‘Sure,’ says Benedict. He gets his Gladstone bag out of the boot. Isn’t she even going to get out of the car?
But then, just as he is fumbling for his keys, Natalka is beside him. She kisses him on the cheek.
‘I’ll miss you tonight,’ she whispers.
‘Me too,’ says Benedict. ‘We must do it again sometime.’
‘We will,’ says Natalka. ‘We are lovers now.’ And she waves him goodbye as she gets into the car.
* * *
THE HOUSE IS silent as Benedict climbs the stairs. He opens the door to his bedsit which, flooded with moonlight, now looks like a magical bower, full of possibilities. He has a shower but, even though it’s now nearly midnight, finds himself unable to sleep. He looks out of the window as the lighthouse beam sweeps across the harbour, illuminating ships and masts and the dark water. Maybe he should say his prayers. After all, he’s got a lot to be thankful for. He remembers, with a sudden rush of affection, the evening prayers at the monastery, vespers, a litany of praise and thanksgiving. He doesn’t kneel but stays sitting at his desk, staring dreamily in front of him. The surface is as neat as usual, just a book, a notepad and a bookmark. The book is Thank Heaven Fasting by Sheila Atkins and the notepad just has one word on it: ‘France?’ The bookmark is actually a picture of St Patrick, showing the saint in bishop’s green, holding a shamrock and a staff. Then Benedict remembers. This was the bookmark that fell from Peggy’s copy of the book, the one that was snatched by the gunman. He’d kept it because he’d always had a fondness for the patron saint of Ireland, even though he was never formally canonised. He likes holy pictures too. His grandmother, more Catholic than the rest of the family, had collected them.
The light falls on the picture. St Patrick. Pray for us. Then Benedict hears Peggy’s voice. Religion is the opium of the people. Why had Peggy, who despised formal religion, kept a holy picture in a book?
Natalka’s voice: Maria said that the clue was in the book. Benedict had read Thank Heaven Fasting from cover to cover and found nothing significant. But what if the clue was actually in the book? What if Patrick himself was the clue?
The searchlight moves on, leaving the room in darkness.
34
Harbinder
Church Bells
HARBINDER WAKES EARLY but her mother is already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Her father is at the table, eating a plate of dalia and reading yesterday’s local paper. Dex Murder: Police Baffled. Sultan sits beside him, looking stoical. He’s waiting for his morning walk.
‘Isn’t a carer meant to come in the morning?’ says Harbinder, putting the kettle on for coffee. Her mother only ever makes tea or haldi doodh. Harbinder still remembers being asked, in primary school, to describe a typical breakfast. ‘First you make the akki roti . . .’ Kevin Brewster had laughed so much that he’d had to leave the room.
‘I haven’t seen Maria for a few days,’ says Bibi. ‘I hope she isn’t ill. Patricia said that she’d try to send Vicky later. Or she might even come herself at midday. She’s so kind.’
‘Why aren’t you at the shop?’ says Harbinder. It’s only seven-thirty but the shop opens at seven.
‘Kush is there,’ says her father. ‘I’m going to watch Kiaan play football.’ He tries to sound casual but Harbinder knows that he loves watching his grandson play. Kiaan is only eight but, according to Harbinder’s mother, that well-known football pundit, he has ‘already been scouted’. It’s funny, Deepak is scathing about Indians who try too hard to assimilate but there’s nothing he likes better than watching Sunday morning football, yelling from the sidelines and complaining about the referee. If there’s a more typically English pastime, Harbinder would like to see it.
‘Give him my love,’ she says, because she’s very fond of her nieces and nephews. ‘Tell him to score a hat-trick.’
Bibi rolls her eyes. ‘He’s a defender, Heena.’
‘I’m going into work,’ says Harbinder.
‘On a Sunday?’ says Bibi, as if she’s a devout Catholic about to drag them all to mass.
‘I’m working on a murder case,’ says Harbinder. ‘If the carers don’t come, ring me. And, Mum, if Maria comes round, ring me immediately.’
‘Why?’ says Deepak, looking up from the paper. Sultan goes to fetch his lead.
‘I need to talk to her,’ says Harbinder grimly.
* * *
NEIL AND DONNA are both at the station, Donna finishing her morning doughnut, Neil flexing his biceps.
‘How was bonny Scotland?’ says Donna. ‘Did you bring us back any shortbread?’
‘Sorry,’ says Harbinder. She always forgets to bring presents, although she hardly ever goes anywhere. Neil brings sweets even if he goes to Bognor for the day.
‘This came for you,’ says Neil, proffering a jiffy bag. ‘I opened it in case it was a bomb but it’s just a book.’
‘Glad to see that you’re following safety procedure,’ says Harbinder. The book is a paperback copy of A Town Called Murder by Dex Challoner. Inside there’s a note from Pippa Sinclair-Lewis, the publicist.
As promised this is the first in Dex’s Murder series. Enjoy!
Best,
Pippa.
It’s a nice thought, thinks Harbinder, but she doesn’t know when she’s going to find the time to read a tome like this. She puts the book in her bag.
‘What have we found out about Maria?’ she says.
Neil turns to his notes. He writes everything down in his big, careful handwriting. It drives Harbinder mad but it’s also useful sometimes.
‘Maria Holloway, nee Lipska. She’s thirty-five, married to Lee Holloway, a carpet-fitter. Born in Kozlowo but has lived in England for ten years. Used to work as a nurse at the Princess Royal. Good references from there. Patricia Creeve says that Maria left nursing for a job that she could fit round childcare. Maria and Lee have three children, Michael, Lucy and Jamie. The eldest two are at St Mark’s in Steyning and they haven’t been in school since Tuesday. Lee works at Carpet Kingdom in Shoreham and he hasn’t been to work either. They live just outside Steyning. We’ve had a car posted outside their house all night but there’s been no sign of life.’
No sign of life. Harbinder thinks of Peggy sitting in her chair with the view over the beach and the harbour. Had Maria, the ex-nurse, killed her? But why?
‘Maria could have been taking money from Peggy’s account,’ she says. ‘And Dex said that Weronika always thought that people were cheating her. Maybe she was right. Maybe Maria was stealing from her.’
‘Why would she kill Dex though?’
‘Maybe he found out that she’d killed his mother. Remember what Maria told Natalka? That Peggy said she knew something about Weronika’s death?’
‘Why would Maria say that if she was the one who killed her, though?’ says Donna. She is staring at a picture on her laptop of Maria, taken from Facebook. Maria has her arms around two children. Her hair is loose and she is relaxed and smiling. Donna then clicks onto the still from the CCTV. Maria is looking straight into the camera, hair pul
led back, eyes steely.
‘Maria visited Dex at ten past midnight,’ says Harbinder. ‘It fits with the time of death.’
‘Would she shoot him, though?’ says Neil. ‘I mean, I can just about see Maria killing two old ladies. Injecting them or something. But to shoot a man in cold blood . . .’
Neil never thinks that women are capable of extreme violence. It’s quite sweet but not accurate, in Harbinder’s experience.
‘Could she have killed Lance Foster too?’ says Donna.
‘It’s possible,’ says Harbinder. ‘The hotel receptionist says that there were cleaners in the vicinity. Maria could have posed as a cleaner in her carer’s outfit.’
‘What about Nigel Smith?’ says Donna. ‘If money was the motive, he stood to gain most from Peggy’s death.’
‘And Joan, Peggy’s friend, said that Nigel had taken her money,’ says Neil. ‘He wasn’t a good son, that’s what she said.’
‘Are we sure that Nigel was in Aberdeen at the time of Lance’s death?’ says Donna.
‘I think so,’ says Harbinder. ‘Edwin was certain and he knows Nigel quite well. Benedict saw him too, going to lunch with Lance. Apparently Nigel and Lance were at school together.’
‘I went to see Nigel on Friday,’ says Neil. ‘He wasn’t there. His wife said that he was in Frankfurt. On business.’
‘Sally might not know,’ says Harbinder. ‘Or she might be hiding something. Let’s go to see her again. And, on the way back, we can call in at Maria’s, talk to the neighbours, try to get some idea about where she might be.’
‘OK,’ says Neil. Harbinder thinks that he’s dying to see the perfect village again.
* * *
THE CHURCH BELLS are ringing as they approach the Smiths’ house. This is probably the only place, aside from Ambridge, where people still attend the village church, thinks Harbinder. Her mother listens to The Archers sometimes, despite not being able to tell any of the characters apart. Will Sally, a Shula-type if there ever was one, be attending the Sunday morning service? But, no, Sally opens the door immediately, holding onto Ozymandias’s collar. She’s wearing wellingtons and has clearly just come back from a dog walk.
The Postscript Murders Page 26
