Murder in Langley Woods

by Betty Rowlands

  She rang again. After a few seconds the light in the inner porch came on and moments later she heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs and crossing the hall. She had a sudden misgiving; it might not be Ken at all, but a cleaner or caretaker who would doubtless not be best pleased at being dragged down four flights of stairs on a fool’s errand. She began to wish she had never thought of the idea. Then a key turned in the outer door, it swung open and he was standing there, looking disgruntled, a little suspicious … and very tired.

  For a moment he stared at her without speaking. Then he said, ‘Come in,’ and she stepped inside while he relocked the door and followed her up to his office. ‘I was on my way to get something to eat when I saw your light,’ she explained.

  ‘I stayed on to write a report. Too many interruptions during office hours.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ll leave if you like.’

  ‘No, that’s okay, I’m just about done.’ He began gathering papers together and pushing them into a folder. ‘I haven’t eaten yet either … mind if I join you?’

  ‘Please do. You’re sure you’ve finished? I don’t mind waiting if—’

  ‘It’s no problem. I’ll check it over in the morning before I give it to Tricia to put together.’

  She kept her eyes on him during the conversation, but he hardly looked at her. Normally, he would have expressed pleasure at seeing her and given her a kiss or at least a hug, but this evening he made no attempt at physical contact. So she stood by the door and waited while he put the report in a filing cabinet, closed the drawer, picked up a bunch of keys from his desk and switched out the lights before locking up. They descended the stairs and left the building in silence. Ken secured the outer door and they headed towards the town centre, still without speaking.

  After a few moments he asked in a voice that held a hint of weariness, ‘Where would you like to eat?’

  ‘I was going to the Brasserie.’

  ‘That suits me.’

  They had a drink in the bar while waiting for a table. He said, ‘So what brought you into Cheltenham this evening?’

  ‘I was on my way home from Gloucester. I was feeling hungry but I couldn’t face the thought of cooking a meal.’ She drank a mouthful of her non-alcoholic cocktail, helped herself to an olive from a glass dish on the bar and said, ‘To save you the trouble of asking, I was in Gloucester having a drink with Bruce Ingram.’ She met his gaze squarely as she spoke and saw the heavy features set like a freeze-frame in a TV commercial.

  ‘I see,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘I don’t think you do. It wasn’t anything so childish as an act of defiance after your outburst this morning … it so happened that he called me to say he had something interesting to tell me and we arranged to meet for a chat before he went off to keep another appointment.’

  ‘And what was this interesting something that made you—’ Ken broke off abruptly and picked up the menu, having evidently thought better of what he had been about to say.

  Melissa cocked an eyebrow and finished the question for him. ‘Defy your orders?’

  ‘There’s no need to put it like that. It wasn’t intended as an order—’

  ‘Oh, but it was. You “absolutely forbade me” – your words – to have anything to do with Bruce.’

  He gave a deep, rumbling sigh and ran his fingers through his crisp grey hair. ‘Should’ve put it more diplomatically, I suppose.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have said it at all.’

  ‘Mel, we have to get this sorted.’ He reached out and touched her gently on the hand. ‘But not now, we’re both tired. Let’s call a truce for this evening. Now, what do you want as a starter?’

  After their meal, Ken walked Melissa back to her car, kissed her affectionately but without passion and waited while she settled into the driver’s seat, buckled her safety belt and wound down the window saying, ‘Good night, and thanks for the dinner.’

  ‘My pleasure. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure.’ She turned the key in the ignition; there was a tired whirring sound from the starter motor, then silence. She cursed and tried again with the same result. ‘Oh hell, what do I do now?’

  ‘I’ve got some jump leads in my car. Wait here while I go and get them. And keep your doors locked till I get back,’ he added. ‘There are some rum characters about at this time of night. Shan’t be long.’

  Well now, aren’t you glad he’s with you? It was that exasperating inner voice again. What would you do if you were on your own?

  ‘Call the AA, of course,’ she said aloud, beating her hands impatiently on the steering wheel. ‘And then go into the Queen’s and order coffee and wait there until they arrive.’ She pressed the button to switch on the radio, realised it was pointless and switched it off again. The minutes ticked past. A group of noisy youths came round the corner by the Town Hall and headed in her direction, jostling one another off the pavement into the road and yelling abuse at the drivers of passing cars who hooted as they were forced to swerve round them. Their drunken shouts and raucous laughter echoed incongruously round the elegant square with its carefully tended gardens. Melissa peered uneasily along the road that Ken had taken, wishing he would hurry up.

  The next moment his Rover slid into the space beside her. Thankfully, she released the bonnet catch on the Golf and held the torch he handed her while he connected the jump leads. ‘Right, start her up,’ he commanded. She turned the key; magically, the engine fired. ‘Keep it running for a minute or two before you switch on your lights,’ he said. ‘I’ll follow you home in case you have any more trouble.’

  ‘Really, there’s no need, it sounds perfectly healthy now,’ she protested, but she knew she was wasting her breath. As usual, he had taken command. It was comforting, but at the same time infuriating. The drunken shouts came nearer and there was a crash of broken glass, followed by the wail of a siren. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ said Ken and for once Melissa obeyed without question.

  At first, the drive back was uneventful. There was no moon but the sky was clear, the air was still and the roads were comparatively quiet. The Golf purred along as if it had never given any trouble in its life. Glancing from time to time in her rear-view mirror, Melissa saw the Rover’s headlights a steady hundred yards or so behind her. From time to time another car would pull out, overtake them both and rush ahead on full beam, carving its way through the darkness until its rear lights dwindled into tiny red pinpoints before vanishing altogether in the distance.

  The turning from the main road to Upper Benbury was narrow and twisty. It wound downhill for half a mile and then crossed a short stretch of common land before climbing into the village. Melissa drove with her usual caution, prepared to pull on to the verge at the first sign of headlights coming from the opposite direction, but there were none. Once she had to brake sharply as a badger lumbered across in front of her before disappearing under the hedgerow; from then on she crept along in second gear in case some other creature should stray into her path. Ken was still behind, keeping a little closer now that they had left the highway. She wound down her window, enjoying the cool freshness of the night air. An owl hooted and from somewhere not far away the nocturnal peace was shattered by a thin, agonised shriek as a predator, probably a fox, claimed its prey.

  Suddenly there were other sounds as well, man-made: a crash of breaking glass followed by a shout of alarm. Melissa’s first thought, that a nearby house was being burgled, was swiftly followed by the realisation that the nearest dwelling was a quarter of a mile away. Whatever the cause of the commotion, it was close at hand. Her heart began thumping with apprehension and she slowed down still further as she approached the final bend at the bottom of the hill, then did an emergency stop on seeing the road ahead blocked by two cars.

  The events that followed were to live on in her memory for a long time. The car nearest to her, which was slewed across the road, was surrounded by a group of men, two of whom were in the act of
dragging the furiously protesting driver from his seat and propelling him roughly towards the vehicle in front. In a moment of bewildered horror, Melissa recognised Major Dudley Ford.

  ‘Lock your doors and call 999!’ It was Ken Harris, who had leapt out of his car and thrust his mobile phone through her open window as he went charging past with a heavy flashlight in his hand and shouting, ‘Police, stop!’

  By this time the abductors had almost reached the car in front with their prisoner. One was holding a rear door open; another had leapt into the driver’s seat and was revving the engine. In a matter of seconds, the gang would escape; with their victim’s own car blocking the road, pursuit would be impossible. Ignoring Ken’s instruction to remain where she was, Melissa grabbed her heavy metal steering-wheel lock from the passenger foot-well and hared after him, shouting directions into the phone as she ran.

  At the sound of the challenge the men wavered, then redoubled their efforts. They had almost succeeded; several yards still separated them from their pursuers when there came an unexpected intervention. A posse of youths, whom Melissa immediately recognised as members of the Woodbridge family, emerged from a clump of trees and came rushing down the steep bank with Curly, their mongrel terrier, racing ahead of them. Terrifying drama degenerated into pure farce; like a troop of cavalry arriving in the nick of time they waded into the mêlée, shouting and laying about them with heavy sticks while Curly pranced around, barking furiously and snapping indiscriminately at ankles. Within seconds, almost without putting up a fight, the would-be kidnappers piled into their car and fled, leaving their dazed victim in the middle of the road.

  Melissa raced forward and caught him by the arm. ‘Dudley, are you hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘Hurt? No, not at all,’ the Major assured her.

  ‘Any idea who they were?’ asked Ken.

  ‘Absolutely none.’ The Major took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow with a shaking hand. ‘They were following close behind me … much too close … and then they went tearing past, flashing their lights. I thought I’d seen the last of them, but after I turned into the lane, there they were, blocking the road in front of me and I had to do an emergency stop.’

  ‘Sounds like a classic case of road rage,’ Ken said grimly. ‘Have you any idea what you’d done to upset them?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said the Major huffily. ‘I told you, I don’t know the blighters from Adam. I was simply driving along, minding my own business.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘They all got out of their car and headed in my direction. I could see they were out for trouble so I locked my doors and tried to reverse away from them, but unfortunately I misjudged it and went up the bank. Then they broke the window and dragged me out.’

  ‘Did they say anything?’ Ken asked.

  ‘Something about teaching me a lesson I wouldn’t forget. Disgraceful behaviour!’ he finished, his indignation rising as he recovered his nerve. ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to. In my young days hooligans like that would have had a good thrashing!’

  It was a sentiment Melissa had heard many times. For once, she was inclined to agree with him.

  ‘Now, as for these young heroes …’ He turned to his deliverers, who were listening open-mouthed as he described the adventure. ‘Thanks, lads, that was a jolly good show! Here, let me give you a little something.’ He beckoned them to the edge of the road and pulled out his wallet, took out several banknotes and handed them over while saying something in a low voice. The brothers exchanged glances and then responded with vigorous nods, gratified smiles and a chorus of thanks before disappearing into the shadows.

  The Major put away his wallet and rejoined Ken and Melissa. ‘Well, that’s that,’ he said. ‘Not much wrong with this country when it can produce splendid lads like that, eh? So, all’s well that ends well, what?’

  ‘Not entirely,’ said Ken.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Those people must be caught. I don’t suppose you got the number of their car?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘But you could give the police a description?’

  ‘Not a very good one, I’m afraid. It’s dark, and anyway my eyesight’s not what it was. Look, we’d better not stay here, cluttering up the road.’ He went over to his car, switched on the interior light and began brushing away fragments of the broken window. Considering his age and the ordeal he had just been through, he had so far displayed an astonishing degree of self-possession, due no doubt to his military training and experience. His praise for his three young rescuers had been like something out of a war-time propaganda film, although Melissa found his distribution of largesse somewhat out of character as neither he nor his wife was renowned for generosity. She was surprised, too, at his lack of interest in establishing his attackers’ identity. His face was in shadow, making it impossible to read his expression, but she sensed that he was anxious to leave the scene as soon as possible to avoid any more questions.

  ‘You’re sure you’re okay to drive?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I am,’ he insisted. ‘No need to fuss. And I’d be grateful if you’d say nothing to Madeleine about this. She’ll only worry, and she’s not terribly well.’

  ‘So how are you going to account for the damage to the window?’ This time it was Ken Harris, standing beside the car with an elbow on the roof while holding his mobile phone to his ear.

  ‘What? Oh, I’ll tell her it was down to some young vandals in the pub car park. I’m relying on your discretion,’ he added to Melissa.

  Meanwhile, Ken was giving directions on the phone. ‘Half a mile beyond the pub, turn right,’ he commanded whoever was on the other end. ‘The police will be here in a couple of minutes,’ he informed the Major. ‘They’ll want to ask you a few questions … if you’d rather speak to them here, I’ll keep you company until they arrive.’

  ‘No need, I assure you.’

  ‘You never know, those villains might come back. Perhaps it would be better if you were to wait as well, Melissa. The more witnesses, the better.’ At that moment, his gaze fell on the crook-lock which she was still clutching. ‘Good God, woman!’ he exclaimed in horror, ‘what were you planning to do with that?’

  ‘Clobber one of them, I suppose, if they wouldn’t let Dudley go,’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘Well, put it out of sight before the police arrive and nick you for carrying an offensive weapon,’ he ordered and for the second time that evening she meekly did as she was told.

  ‘Look,’ the Major pleaded, ‘there’s no need for you to stay. There’s not much chance of catching those ruffians, is there? I really don’t see the point of taking it any further.’

  ‘That’s up to you, sir,’ said Ken stiffly. At that moment, the wail of a siren and a flashing blue light signalled the arrival of a patrol car. ‘Here come the police. You tell them what you like, but I shall be giving them my own account of this very nasty incident and no doubt Mrs Craig will do the same.’

  Twenty-One

  ‘Rum business, that,’ said Ken.

  ‘The sort of thing you read about in the paper, but never think is going to happen to people you know,’ Melissa agreed.

  ‘Quite. Got to hand it to the Major, though … he’s a tough old warrior. I’ve seen people half his age go to pieces after an ordeal like that.’ Ken spooned sugar into the mug of hot tea that Melissa had just handed him and stirred it vigorously. ‘From what I know of him, though, I’d have expected him to want the police to move heaven and earth to catch the villains,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Still, if his wife is unwell, I can understand him not wanting to upset her. What’s wrong with her, by the way? When we went to that ghastly party of theirs a while back, she gave me the impression of being as strong as an ox.’

  ‘As far as I know, she is. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her yesterday. Dudley’s the one with health problems … he has to take medication for high blood pressure and he su
ffers from angina. I just hope he doesn’t keel over from delayed reaction to the shock.’

  ‘He should be seen by a doctor after all that excitement.’

  ‘Well, you heard what he said. At least, Madeleine will know what to do if there’s a problem – she used to be an army nurse.’

  ‘In which case, she’s had plenty of experience in dealing with crises.’

  Ken lapsed into silence while he drank his tea and Melissa, covertly watching him, could imagine what was going on in his mind. Like her, he would be wondering whether there was more than concern for his wife’s peace of mind behind Dudley Ford’s reluctance to pursue the matter further.

  After the officers in the patrol car had noted and passed on to their control room the somewhat sketchy details of his attackers’ appearance that he had managed to recall, together with Ken and Melissa’s account of what they had witnessed, the three cars had driven the short distance back to the village in convoy. Despite his protests, Ken had insisted on waiting until the old man was safely indoors before following Melissa back to Hawthorn Cottage, where they were now sitting in the kitchen discussing the evening’s events. It had not been her intention to invite him in and the half of her brain that was not engaged on an attempt to make sense of what had happened was trying to think of a stratagem to get rid of him without a confrontation. At the moment, however, he too appeared preoccupied with the extraordinary sequence of events the pair of them had just witnessed. Despite being retired from the police force, his interest in any unusual case was as strong as ever.

  ‘It’s probably a face-saving device,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t want it to be known that he’d been rescued from a manhandling by a bunch of village lads … he’d feel a bit of a wally if that got around.’

  Privately, she did not believe that it was anything of the kind. On the face of it, Major Ford’s account of his ordeal made sense … but for one detail. His attackers had obviously known which route he would take after they had passed him on the main road because they had been lying in wait for him. She glanced across the table at Ken, who was frowning into his empty mug, still deep in thought. She could not believe that this point had escaped him and she guessed that the reason he had not mentioned it was to avoid giving her any excuse to probe more deeply into the episode – or, as he would have described it, ‘poke her nose into what was none of her business’. She certainly had no intention of referring to it herself until she had more time to think … and to talk to Dudley Ford. She recalled the moment when she had tackled him in the bar of the Lamb and Shearling about the possibility of his having seen Hannah Rose there. On reflection, it occurred to her that he had taken an unusually long time over the simple act of returning his wallet to his pocket, almost as if he was not entirely at ease over her enquiry. Neither had he shown any particular interest in it; in fact, for a man with such a passion for law and order and the bringing of criminals to justice, his reaction had been strangely lukewarm. It was out of character, as was the way he had dished out banknotes to youths whom he would normally, given the hour and the circumstances, have suspected of being up to no good. A reward for heroism or an inducement to them to keep their mouths shut?