‘No time for guessing games. I’ve an urgent appointment in ten minutes, but I thought you’d like to know there have been some interesting developments in the Rocky Wilkins saga.’
‘Have there? Do tell!’
‘Not now. Why don’t we meet for a drink this evening and exchange news?’
‘Sure. Where?’
‘Do you know the Lamb and Shearling, at the back of Northgate?’
‘No, but I think I’ve heard of it. How do I get there?’ Part of her mind went off at a tangent; the name rang a bell. She was certain there had been a recent reference to it, or something like it, but in what connection?
‘It’s just round the corner from the Gazette offices,’ Bruce was saying. ‘I suggest you pick me up here – you can use the office car park. Say about six?’
‘Right. See you then.’
Melissa put down the phone and somewhat reluctantly settled down to begin work on the final draft of Drop Dead! Somewhat to her surprise, the task went smoothly; there were no further interruptions and it was not until she began to feel hungry and realised that it was almost two o’clock that she put the script aside and went downstairs for a belated lunch. She had just finished her cheese omelette when Gloria arrived. Her toffee-brown eyes were rolling with merriment and her voice was shaking with barely controlled laughter as she announced that she had come for Iris’s key.
‘What’s the joke?’ Melissa asked as she handed it over.
‘Ooh, Mrs Craig, it were so funny! I were in the shop just now and we was all talking about that feller in the BMW what they just caught—’
‘Have they caught him? I hadn’t heard.’ Presumably that was the development that Bruce was so excited about.
‘It were on the one o’clock news. And there were something about people ringing the police to say they saw the same sort of car in a lay-by on the Stow road the night that gipsy disappeared.’
‘That’s interesting.’ Melissa recalled how she and Harriet Yorke had speculated about Hannah’s possible movements after leaving the Fords’ cottage. ‘But I don’t think it’s particularly funny,’ she added reproachfully, as Gloria still appeared to have trouble containing her mirth.
‘Course it ain’t, but listen … Mrs Ford were in the shop as well … and Mrs Foster said to her, “Your husband’s got a car like that, hasn’t he? I hope he’s got a good alibi,” … an’ everyone laughed ’cept her … you should have seen the old girl’s face … it were like she’d swallowed a whole bottle of vinegar! “Do you imagine my husband would associate with that sort of person?” she says.’ The story had been punctuated throughout with barely suppressed giggles; at the end, Gloria gave up the unequal struggle and collapsed into uproarious laughter. ‘She took it so serious, you wouldn’t believe,’ she finished, pulling a paper tissue from her pocket to wipe her streaming eyes.
‘Well, you could hardly expect her to see the funny side of a crack like that,’ Melissa pointed out with a sympathetic chuckle. Poor Madeleine, she thought; she never did have a sense of humour.
‘Tell you what, though,’ said Gloria when she was once more capable of coherent speech. ‘You remembers what I told you about that time my Stanley were leavin’ the pub and saw the girl getting into a car with a feller? He reckons that were a BMW.’ Her face grew suddenly serious. ‘Wonder if it were the same one?’
‘I shouldn’t think so … there’s quite a few of them about. Besides, you said she was with an older man.’
‘So I did. Maybe it were Major Ford!’ There was another minor explosion.
‘I hope you won’t go repeating that suggestion in the shop,’ said Melissa, with mock severity.
‘Course not,’ Gloria assured her. ‘That’s the trouble with that Mrs Foster, she’s a terrible gossip,’ she added with a total absence of self-awareness. ‘Well, I must get on with Miss Ash’s windows. I’ll drop the key back when I’ve finished.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Melissa. ‘That pub where your Stanley saw Hannah … what did you say it was called?’
‘Can’t remember exactly … the Lamb an’ Something.’
‘Would it be the Lamb and Shearling?’
‘Thassright. Funny name, innit? What’s a shearling?’
‘It’s a young sheep that’s just been shorn.’
‘Ah!’ Gloria paused for a moment to digest this nugget of information before heading for the front door of Elder Cottage.
The saloon bar of the Lamb and Shearling was unexpectedly crowded, mostly with young people of both sexes, a few of whom Melissa recognised from her occasional visits to the office of the Gloucester Gazette. Bruce led her to a table and went to the bar to order their drinks, pausing once or twice on the way to exchange remarks with someone she assumed to be a colleague.
‘I gather this is the Gazette staff’s favourite watering-hole,’ she commented when he returned with her glass of orange juice, a pint of bitter for himself and two packets of crisps.
‘That’s right. It’s handy for a recap of the day’s news over a quick noggin before heading home. They do quite decent lunch-time food as well.’ Bruce drank deeply from his glass before setting it down and exhaling with a sigh of satisfaction.
‘So what’s new in the Wilkins case?’ Melissa asked. ‘I know he’s been picked up,’ she added. ‘It was on the lunch-time news – Gloria told me. She also said something about a BMW having been spotted in a lay-by on the Stow road the evening before Hannah was missed from her room at the hotel.’
‘Yes, that came out at this morning’s briefing. The police aren’t sure there’s a connection, but they’re appealing to the driver to come forward so that he can be eliminated, the usual stuff. There have been other sightings too. It seems the public have been spotting dark-coloured BMWs all over the place.’
‘I know. We’ve even got one in Upper Benbury – Dudley Ford’s recently acquired one and Madeleine was having her leg pulled about it in the shop this morning. She was not amused.’ Melissa drank some of her orange juice and began wrestling open her packet of crisps. ‘Going back to the car in the lay-by, if it does turn out to be Rocky’s, that puts him squarely in the frame for Hannah’s murder, doesn’t it?’
‘Sure does.’
‘Is that the interesting new development you were hinting at this morning?’
‘No, there’s something else. One other item that was given out at the briefing was about a disturbance last night at the travellers’ camp on the Cirencester road.’
‘The one where those two men were arrested for questioning about Hannah’s murder?’
‘And later released without charge.’
Melissa, remembering Rachel’s reference to her menfolk having been involved in a fight, felt an inward buzz of excitement. ‘So what happened?’ she asked.
‘The occupants of a nearby house heard a rumpus going on and reported it. It was all over by the time the police arrived, but it seems some outsiders turned up at the camp and started a fight. They left a few cuts and bruises by way of souvenirs, but as you can imagine, no one was going to press charges. Officially the incident is being treated as some sort of quarrel between rival gangs.’
‘But you reckon there’s a connection with Hannah’s murder?’
‘The question was raised as to whether it was a case of her people deciding to take the law into their own hands after two men they believed to be guilty were released. The police refused to comment.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘I don’t believe it’s quite that straightforward. If it had been a serious attempt at a punishment beating, the injuries would have been a lot more serious.’
‘So they would,’ Melissa agreed. ‘On both sides,’ she added meaningfully.
Bruce gave her a keen look. ‘I think you’ve been holding out on me. You mentioned on the phone you’d had a visitor.’
‘I wanted to hear your story first. Yes, Rachel came to see me this morning.’ As accurately as she could, Melissa repeated every
thing the gipsy had told her. ‘I can only guess what happened when the Romanys invaded the travellers’ camp,’ she went on while Bruce digested the information along with the remainder of his crisps. ‘Probably they set off with the idea of settling the score there and then, but the fact that subsequently they were overheard to say, “He must be punished” – as if they were speaking of just one man – suggests to me a) that the travellers managed to convince them that they really were innocent of Hannah’s murder and b) that they were able to give them vital information about her killer … her presumed killer, I should say.’
‘You mean Rocky?’
‘Who else? Remember what Rachel said the first time she came to see me: The blame for her death lies at his door. He’s the one they’re after. I don’t think Rachel would be too bothered if all they intended was to give him a thrashing, but I think she’s afraid they’ll do him serious, maybe permanent, harm.’
‘How would the travellers have known who he was?’
‘Maybe Hannah herself told them. They admitted knowing the girl; two of them had sex with her.’
‘You could well be right,’ said Bruce thoughtfully. ‘Have you reported Rachel’s visit to the Bill?’
Melissa shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t have added to what they already knew and would only have led to trouble for her. She was terrified of her husband finding out she’d been to see me. I told her that the police are well aware of the probable threat to Rocky’s safety and that reassured her. Now he’s in custody, there’s even less point in saying anything.’
‘Yes, I see what you mean. Well, that seems to be that.’ He finished his drink and stood up. ‘Would you like another – or more crisps?’
‘Thanks – no more crisps, but I wouldn’t mind another juice.’
‘Right.’ He took their empty glasses and went to order refills. The crowd had thinned; more people were leaving than arriving, but as she sat idly watching, Melissa noticed a well-set-up elderly man who entered from the street, nodded a greeting to the couple behind the bar and made for a door in the far corner. He was followed almost immediately by two more men of similar age and appearance, and as Bruce returned with the drinks he found his way momentarily blocked by a further group of three heading in the same direction. A solitary figure in tweeds brought up the rear and made straight for the bar.
‘Good heavens!’ Melissa exclaimed as Bruce settled back into his seat, ‘there’s Major Ford!’
Bruce paused in the act of raising his glass and glanced over his shoulder. ‘The former owner of the notorious freezer?’ he said in a low voice. ‘So it is!’
‘Whatever can he be doing here?’ she said curiously, as the Major greeted the barman in his customary penetrating voice and handed him an envelope with the instruction to check that it was all in order. He then produced a pocket diary and proceeded to recite a list of dates while the man made notes in a well-thumbed book with a pencil attached by a string which he took from a shelf behind him. ‘Oh, I get it,’ she whispered, ‘it’s the regular get-together with some of his ex-army pals. Madeleine calls it his geriatric play-group.’
A sudden thought struck her. She put down her drink and went across to intercept the Major as, having completed his business, he too headed for the door in the corner. ‘Good evening, Dudley,’ she said. ‘Can you spare a moment?’
He appeared startled at seeing her, but quickly recovered, removed his tweed cap and gave his customary polite bow. ‘Mrs Craig … Melissa! Fancy seeing you here!’ His slightly bloodshot eyes flickered in an upward direction. ‘Just on my way to a get-together with the old army pals,’ he explained. ‘Our good ladies give us a pass to attend, haahaahaa!’ His unmelodious laughter echoed round the bar, causing heads to turn. ‘So what can I do for you?’
‘Is this where you always hold your meetings?’
‘For the past couple of years, yes. Used to go to the Crown but the landlord jacked up the rent.’
‘I don’t suppose you happened to be here the night that gipsy girl came in, trying to sell her lace?’
The Major made a great to-do about returning the diary to his inside breast-pocket before saying gruffly, ‘When would that have been?’
‘Ah, that I can’t tell you … quite a few weeks ago, possibly longer. Stanley Parkin was here at the time and he thinks he saw her in the car park later on with a man, but he’s a bit vague as to when it was. It occurred to me that you or one of your members might have seen her as you were leaving.’
‘Can’t say I did. Can’t speak for the others, of course. Has Parkin reported it?’
‘Gloria said he was going to.’
‘Better leave it to the boys in blue to follow up, then.’ He broke off to exchange greetings with two more of his colleagues, assuring them that he would be ‘with them in a jiffy’. Outside, the cathedral bell struck the hour; he checked his watch and said, ‘Have to ask you to excuse me, our meeting’s due to start,’ raised his cap once more and hurried away.
‘It was a long shot, but I thought it was worth asking him,’ Melissa said after explaining to Bruce her reason for questioning the Major.
‘Can’t see that it would help much if any of them did see her, not after all this time,’ he commented. ‘Unless, of course, it would help to identify the man she drove off with.’
They finished their drinks and got up to leave, reaching the door just as a group of four men were about to enter. They were all similarly dressed in casual, slightly shabby clothes; three appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties but the fourth was an older, strikingly handsome man with straight black hair. They stood aside to allow Melissa and Bruce to pass but received their polite thanks in unsmiling silence.
‘They don’t look too happy,’ Melissa commented.
‘Come to drown their sorrows after a bad day at the races, maybe,’ Bruce suggested with a grin as they crossed the pub car park to a footpath that served as a short cut back to the Gazette offices. He glanced at his watch. ‘I must be on my way … I promised to look after Kirsty so that Penny can go to a social evening at Carston Village Hall. She hardly ever goes out because she can’t afford to pay a baby-sitter.’
Melissa was on the point of making a teasing response, but a glance at Bruce’s expression told her that his concern for the young single mother and her child was utterly sincere. From the time when she first knew him she had been struck by the contrast between his dogged determination in pursuit of a story and his blend of idealism with an active social conscience. It set him apart from the popular conception of a hard-nosed newshound.
‘That’s really nice of you, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,’ she said warmly.
‘Have you any plans for the evening?’
Melissa pulled a face. ‘No. I was supposed to be seeing Ken Harris, but after this morning’s dust-up …’ She gave a slightly bitter laugh before adding, ‘It won’t exactly help things along if I tell him about this meeting.’
‘Are you planning to?’
‘If he asks. He’s got to get it into his head that I’m not going to let him choose my friends for me.’
‘If you want my advice—’ Bruce began.
‘Yes?’ she said as he broke off and looked uncomfortable.
‘Nothing,’ he said. He took her car key from her and unlocked the Golf, keeping his face averted.
‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ she persisted.
‘No, really.’ He held the driver’s door open while she got in and then handed her the key. ‘Forget I said anything … it’s none of my business.’
‘Well anyway, thanks for the drink.’
‘My pleasure. If anything else interesting breaks, I’ll let you know.’
‘Please do.’
She waited while he got into his own car and drove off, then followed at a slower speed, trying to imagine what he had been about to say.
Twenty
After parting from Bruce, Melissa set off for home. It was still only half-past seven
and the evening stretched ahead, bleak, empty and uninviting. To eat a solitary dinner in front of the television was a depressing prospect. Almost without thinking, she took the road into Cheltenham, parked the Golf on Imperial Square and headed for a restaurant on the Promenade where she occasionally had lunch when in town. On the way she passed the converted Regency building where Harris Investigations occupied a small suite of offices. The downstairs rooms were in darkness but lights were burning on the top floor. Melissa stared up at the uncurtained windows and felt a tightness in her throat. If things had gone according to plan, she and Ken would probably at this moment be having a drink together, consulting a menu, catching up on events of the past few days. Instead, he was working late and she was standing out here on her own because the evening had been ruined for both of them on account of a stupid quarrel. It was his fault for being so dictatorial, her inner voice reminded her, but common sense responded, Yes, but we’ve got to have it out sooner or later and there’s no time like the present. On impulse, she changed direction, crossed the road, mounted the short flight of steps leading to the entrance and grasped the handle of the outer door, which normally stood open. It was closed and locked.
Momentarily disconcerted, she hesitated. Perhaps after all Ken wasn’t there. Maybe Tricia, his young assistant, had forgotten to switch off the light … or possibly he was in the habit of leaving it on overnight as a security measure. She was on the point of going away when she spotted the bank of name-plates and associated bell-pushes set into the outer stonework. She pressed the one marked Harris Investigations, thinking how odd it was, considering the number of times she had called in to see Ken during working hours, that she had never noticed it before.
Through a temporary lull in the traffic she could hear the distant ringing of the bell. If Ken was there, he was probably at his desk, absorbed in writing a report. She pictured him raising his head in surprise at the unexpected sound. He would wonder who could be calling out of hours, whether it was a genuine visitor or a group of yobbos fooling about. He might wait to hear if the summons was repeated before taking any action.
Murder in Langley Woods Page 19
