In the Family

by Christina James

  “But it doesn’t account for all the evidence, does it, sir?”, said Juliet. “For example, we don’t have an explanation for the plastic Red Indians. We don’t know if either Dorothy Atkins or Ronald Atkins – or both – were murdered; and if they were, as Peter Prance suspected, Hedley was almost certainly the murderer, which would make him, not Dorothy Atkins, a serial killer. And we haven’t solved the murder which we set out to solve in the first place: that of Kathryn Sheppard. If Hedley did kill Dorothy and Ronald, then I’d say that it was likely that he killed Bryony, Doris and Kathryn as well.”

  Tim nodded.

  “I agree that there are many loose ends to tidy up. As far as the Red Indians are concerned, once we found out that they were issued the year before the murders of Doris and Bryony, they ceased to be important. Hedley probably took the extra bag from the shop and gave the Red Indians to people that he knew, as mascots or even as a sort of joke against Colin. There was no Red Indian found with Doris Atkins’ body, and none with either Tirzah or Ronald, for that matter. And despite Peter Prance’s panic when he learned that Tirzah and Ronald had both died this week and therefore concluded that the coincidence was too great and that Hedley must have been responsible, there is absolutely no evidence that Hedley had visited Tirzah at Elmete Court on the day that she died, or at any time in the recent past. Conversely, although we know that Hedley did visit Ronald Atkins on the night of his death, this does not prove that Hedley murdered him: the circumstantial evidence rather points to the opposite, in fact. We know that Ronald bought a new washing-line earlier in the day; that his wife had probably left him; and that he knew that Bryony’s body was certain to be found the following day. He had every reason to kill himself and little cause to want to carry on living. As you know, Professor Salkeld said that very few hangings turn out to be murders.”

  “What about Henry Bevelton?”

  “I’m not sure whether Henry Bevelton was accessory after the fact when Bryony was buried or not. We can question him and try to charge him, but I doubt that we shall make anything stick. He has behaved in a shifty way, as you know, and some of the things that he has said don’t bear close scrutiny. My guess is that Henry is just a petty crook who agreed to do the Atkins a favour in return for keeping quiet about something that they knew about him – or alternatively he had heard the neighbours talking, and suspected that Bryony was buried under the apple tree, but kept it to himself, because he wanted to buy the orchard. Even if he is guilty, he has one inestimable advantage: all the Atkins family are now dead except Hedley, so there is only one person left who could betray him; and I’m pretty certain that Hedley is in such a state that although the CPS may decide to press charges, no judge will pronounce him fit either to testify or to stand trial. The whole thing has turned full circle, in other words: he is in practically the same position that Tirzah was in more than thirty years ago. Whatever the truth of all of it is, they have succeeded in keeping it in the family. Only Peter Prance has come anywhere close to piercing their conspiracy of silence.”

  “If Peter Prance was right and two incestuous liaisons with Colin Atkins were at the root of all that followed, wouldn’t it be possible to check this out by getting some DNA tests done?” asked Ricky.

  “Perhaps,” said Tim. “It would be worth a try, if only to satisfy our curiosity. I doubt if the results could be used to convict Hedley of murder, or to exonerate him, for that matter. The problem is that we shall only be able to obtain specimens from Tirzah and Ronald and Bryony – and Hedley himself, of course. Doris Atkins and Colin Atkins were both cremated.”

  “From the previous work I’ve done with DNA testing, I think that specimens from the immediate family should be enough,” said Juliet. “Enough, at least, to prove whether or not Ronald was Hedley’s father, whether he and Bryony were full brother and sister, and probably whether there is any sign of inbreeding in Ronald, and, even more to the point, in Hedley.”

  “Call Professor Salkeld and arrange it, then,” said Tim. “He is carrying out the post mortems on Ronald and Bryony, in any case. I’m sure that he’ll be happy to add Tirzah to his list and to take a few swabs from Hedley.”

  “I still can’t think where Kathryn Sheppard fits into all this,” said Juliet. “With all these deaths going on in the Atkins family, it seems to defy logic that her murder did not tie in with them somehow. Yet, if Peter Prance’s story is to be accepted, the only Atkins actually to have been murdered in 1975 was Doris. If Colin Atkins was her murderer, I cannot see why he would also have killed Kathryn Sheppard. If he knew Kathryn at all, it could only have been as a passing acquaintance when she was going out with Hedley. We don’t think that Colin was a psychopath, do we?”

  Andy Carstairs rose suddenly from his chair.

  “I’ve got it at last!”, he said. “Something’s been nagging at the back of my mind for weeks, now, and I’ve just realised what it is.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Delicate spring flowers were just beginning to bloom in the flowerbeds at Gray’s Inn when Andy Carstairs returned, accompanied this time by Inspector Tim Yates. It was early in the morning and still chilly. Mr. Charles Heward, QC, MP, was expecting them. Andy had spoken to him on the telephone the day before. It had been a friendly conversation, in which Andy said that something else had come up with regard to the Kathryn Sheppard case and he thought that Charles Heward might be able to help. He had taken care to make this further investigation sound routine, and he appeared to have succeeded in this. If Charles was disconcerted or alarmed by being contacted again, his voice did not betray it. He said that he would be in court for the whole of the next day, but that he appreciated that police time was valuable and that holding up investigations cost money. He would therefore make himself available for one hour from 8.30 a.m. onwards, if that was acceptable to Andy. Andy thanked him and said that he would be there. He did not mention that he would be accompanied by his boss. This conversation was taped and the tape was afterwards played in court.

  Tim met Andy at King’s Cross Station – Tim had elected to spend the night with his sister in Surbiton, rather than catching an early train from Peterborough – and they made their way to Gray’s Inn together, both preferring to walk the distance of a mile or so rather than braving the tube or a taxi during the rush hour. Tim appeared to be amused rather than intimidated by the air of ancient privilege that emanated from the cloistered buildings. He was smiling – perhaps somewhat ironically – as he followed Andy up the corkscrew staircase to Charles Heward’s office. He drew level with Andy as the latter tapped on the closed door and, taking the lead, entered as soon as Andy had knocked. He did not wait for the imperious ‘Come!’ that Andy had described from his previous visit.

  Tim saw a bulky figure sitting behind a partner’s desk that was absolutely denuded of papers. Fleetingly, he thought that this was a strange state of affairs for a barrister who professed to be working in court for the whole of the day. The bulky man rose slowly from his seat and extended his hand across the broad extent of the desk.

  Charles Heward may have sounded his usual confident, slightly overbearing, self on the phone, but as soon as Andy saw him, he was struck by the change in his physical appearance. Although still thick-set, he appeared to have lost weight: his face was no longer so rounded and his jacket seemed to be a size too big. His face, which had been flawless and deep mahogany in colour, seemed paler, somehow less full of rude health than before; if there had been wrinkles there before, they were not as noticeable as they were now; and his black hair was certainly more grizzled. Once he had shaken hands with both Tim and Andy and motioned them to take the two chairs that he had placed in front of his desk, he sat down rather heavily and regarded them warily across the wide expanse of furniture. Tim’s instinct was not to put him at ease, but to force him to take the lead in the conversation.

  “So,” Charles Heward said at length, “since I can only offer you a little ti
me, perhaps we had better get started.” He addressed Andy. “You say that you have some new leads in your investigation into Kathryn’s death?”

  Andy nodded.

  “One lead in particular, actually,” he said. “Do you remember that when we last spoke, you said that you had seen Kathryn Sheppard on the Thursday before she was reported missing, with the intention of breaking off your engagement?”

  “Certainly I remember it: I told you that it was something that had been troubling my own conscience and my wife’s ever since and I thought that the time had come to make a clean breast of it.”

  “Can you remember what you said next, sir?”

  “I . . . in what context? Which part of our conversation are you referring to?”

  “The part when you said that, after you broke off your engagement to Kathryn, on the last Thursday that we know she was alive, she had not turned up for work on the following day, which was, obviously, a Friday. How did you know that?”

  “Well, it wasn’t a secret, was it? I think that it even featured on the recent Crimewatch programme, which of course I watched, out of curiosity, after your last visit.”

  “What you say is partly correct, sir. The Crimewatch programme that was broadcast a few days ago did mention that Kathryn had phoned her office that Friday morning and asked to take the day as holiday, at very short notice. But that piece of information was never made public at the time, or in the subsequent investigation that took place about fifteen years ago. It was one of several facts about the case that were revealed for the first time during last week’s programme. In 1975, when Kathryn disappeared, and again in 1990, when the case was reopened, the police decided not to tell the public that Kathryn had taken that day as holiday, because they realised that only her parents and her employer – who were asked to keep quiet about it – were in possession of that piece of information. And in all probability her killer, of course.”

  Tim was watching Charles Heward closely. He half expected him to make a run for it. He was a big man and could possibly have overpowered both himself and Andy if he were determined enough. What happened next was more unexpected. Charles Heward removed his heavy gold wedding ring and laid it carefully on his desk. The he opened his hands in a gesture of surrender. He suddenly looked very tired indeed.

  “All right,” he said. “I will tell you exactly what happened. I realise that I am entitled to have a lawyer present before I say any more, but I will tell you what happened now, both as a gesture of goodwill and to demonstrate that, essentially, I am innocent. You should know that I shall fight any charge of murder tooth and nail and take it to the highest court in the land, if necessary. I don’t even admit to manslaughter. Kathryn’s death was an accident.”

  Charles Heward picked up the gold ring, and rolled it in the palm of his hand. He took a deep breath.

  “Go on, sir,” said Tim steadily.

  “When I told DC Carstairs that Veronica knew that I had not broken off my engagement to Kathryn until shortly before her disappearance, I was not telling the exact truth. In fact, Veronica thought that Kathryn herself had broken it off some time before. Veronica would not have consented to resume our relationship if she had known that I was still seeing Kathryn; and it would probably have been the last straw if she had found out that I had been deceiving her again. For a short time, I led a double life, but it was getting more and more difficult to maintain. It was only possible at all because Veronica insisted on keeping the fact that we were seeing each other again a secret – partly through pride, partly because she did not wish either of us to stretch her father’s patience to breaking-point. At first I was confused: I really did not know whether it was Kathryn or Veronica whom I wished to marry. Over time, however, I realised that Veronica and I had much more in common: we moved in the same circles, shared the same interests. And I don’t deny that the fact that her father was who he was had some bearing on my final decision. Being with Kathryn, on the other hand, was becoming more and more tedious. She lived in a backwater that was far removed from my everyday life and she could not understand how a young lawyer’s career unfolds, or what kind of effort he has to put into it in order to make it do so. Of course, not all lawyers are married to other lawyers: many make happy marriages to women – or, nowadays, men – who are content with keeping house for them and entertaining their colleagues. But I could not see Kathryn in this role, either. She wanted her own career. In the end I recognised that we were incompatible and arranged to see her on that Thursday evening in order to tell her. But I had to work quite late that afternoon and, by the time I reached King’s Cross, there had been a fatality on the line and there were no more trains running to Peterborough that evening. I called Kathryn and told her that I would return home to fetch my car and that I would drive to Spalding, but that it would be late when I arrived. It wasn’t long after I’d put the phone down that Veronica turned up at my office as a surprise and suggested that we went out to dinner. Of course, I had no good reason for refusing and this made it impossible for me to travel to Spalding until the next day. I called Kathryn early the following morning and said that I would be with her by about 10.00 a.m. I asked her to take the day off work.”

  “I see,” said Tim. “Why do you suppose that she didn’t tell her boss the reason why she wanted the day off when she called him? After all, it would have made her behaviour seem more responsible: her colleagues knew that she had a fiancé who lived in London, and that your time for being together was therefore somewhat limited.”

  “I don’t know why, but my guess is that she knew what I was going to say. As I’ve explained, we had been meeting less and less regularly over the previous few months and our relationship was becoming strained. I think that pride will have prevented her from indicating to colleagues that something was wrong until the inevitable happened – in her mind, of course, it was not yet inevitable – and that at the same time she was safeguarding herself against questions about her day off the following week, if the worst came to the worst.”

  “I see,” said Tim again. “So you arrived at Kathryn’s flat at around 10.00 a.m. as you promised.” Charles Heward nodded. “Then what happened?”

  “It was a nice day, and I suggested that we went for a drive. She was fond of Bourne Woods and there was a pub close by them where we used to go for lunch sometimes. I wasn’t thinking very clearly, but I suppose I had some kind of farewell lunch in mind.”

  “Or a cynic might say that you chose not to enter her flat, because you knew there was every danger you might leave some forensic evidence behind.” Tim said this with a smile.

  “I assure you that that was not the case,” Charles Heward replied, rather stiffly. “We drove to the woods, chatting. The conversation was rather laboured – at least, I thought so – but it was amicable enough. I was dreading having to break the news to her. When we reached the woods, I decided to go ahead with the walk, rather than tell her straight away. We were actually walking back towards the car before I realised that there was no more time left and that I would have to tell her that it was over.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “Far worse than I had imagined. She became quite hysterical. She beat me about the head with her hands – ineffectual little blows, they were pathetic – and screamed and shouted. Then she burst into tears, and begged me to change my mind. I was afraid that someone would hear all the commotion, as we were very close to the car park by this time, but we didn’t see a soul. Finally, she took a knife from her bag – it was a kitchen knife with a fairly long, curved blade, a sort of fruit knife, I would guess – and threatened to kill herself with it. I tried to grab her wrist, to make her drop the knife, but somehow she jerked away from me, and fell on it. There was nothing that I could do to save her. It must have gone straight through her heart. She was dead within minutes.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “For the reasons that I h
ave already given DC Carstairs. I didn’t want to jeopardise either my career, or what was becoming the likelihood that Veronica would once again agree to marry me.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I hid the body under some bushes and ran to the car park, to make sure that no-one else was there. I took a travel rug from the car, went back to the bushes, and wrapped Kathryn in it. I put her body in the boot. Then I . . . I removed the knife, and cleaned it on the grass, then threw it into the wastebin at the edge of the car park. I went into Bourne and bought a trowel from a supermarket – I daren’t go to a proper tool-shop to buy a spade, in case someone recognised me – and then drove around until dark. I dug a shallow grave by the slip-road on the A1, put her body in it, and covered it with earth. I then drove back to London. I took the travel rug with me, and burnt it. I stayed up all night preparing some case notes, so that when the police asked me what I had been doing on that day, I had the evidence of a day’s work to show them.”

  “Did you place the plastic Red Indian with her body?”

  “No. I didn’t know she had it on her: it must have been in her pocket. I know where it came from, though: it was some kind of in-joke that she and Hedley Atkins and Bryony all shared. They each had one, and were playing some kind of silly game with them on the occasion on which I met Hedley.”

  “Your car was thoroughly searched and tested for forensic evidence when you were briefly under suspicion for Kathryn’s murder. Why do you suppose that none was found? Was it just luck?”