Murder in the Morning: An absolutely unputdownable cozy murder mystery novel (A Melissa Craig Mystery Book 2)

by Betty Rowlands

  For several seconds the two women sat staring at one another, unable to speak for thinking of that awful scene. Melissa broke the silence.

  ‘Why didn’t he phone the police?’

  ‘He said he was going to. He actually picked up Angy’s phone . . . it was off the hook and covered in blood as if she’d tried to use it to call for help. Then he got scared. Angy had been stabbed in the throat and that’s exactly what he’d done to her portrait . . . he was afraid that would all come out and everyone would think he’d done it.’

  ‘So what did he do?’

  ‘He says he can’t remember exactly but he thinks he may have tried to pull out the knife. Then he lost his nerve and rushed out of the flat and came back to the house to find me.’

  Leaving his fingerprints all over the place, thought Melissa. Aloud, she said, ‘Didn’t you try to persuade him to call the police?’

  ‘Of course I did. I argued and pleaded . . . I even went to the phone to call them myself and he snatched it away from me. He was so angry, I thought he was going to hit me.’

  ‘He’s got quite a temper, hasn’t he? Isn’t that why Angy was afraid of him?’

  ‘He was in a panic . . . he hardly knew what he was doing! He’d never really have hurt anyone.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘We checked his clothes for bloodstains . . . there weren’t many but he told me to wash his shirt and handkerchief while he had a shower. I did that, and then I went to sponge his jacket. I felt something hard in his pocket and I took it out . . . it was the box with the ring in it!’ Lou shook her head as if unable to believe what she was saying.

  ‘He had the ring in his pocket? Are you telling me that after finding Angy’s body he was too scared to stay and call the police but still found the nerve to go rummaging around her flat?’

  ‘He didn’t rummage around! I’d already told him where she kept it . . . and he was afraid that if he left it there it’d be traced back to him. Anyway, it belongs to his family, doesn’t it?’ The girl’s voice took on a whine as she flew yet again to the defence of her man.

  Melissa bit back a scathing comment but she could hear the icy edge in her voice as she said, ‘So you helped him to clean up. Then what?’

  ‘Rick insisted we go home straight away. Nothing I said could make him change his mind. Luckily the others still weren’t back so he made me write a note saying we’d been called to London on some family matter and we took the next train from Cheltenham station.’

  ‘How did you get there?’

  ‘By taxi.’

  ‘And where’s Rick now? Back at the flat?’

  ‘No, at the studio. Steve’s due back tomorrow evening . . . he’ll have to leave before then but I can’t think where he’ll go.’ Lou’s voice trailed into silence; she was played out, too exhausted even to weep. Under its crown of smooth black hair, her face had the colour and texture of wax.

  ‘I think perhaps you should have some food before we talk any more.’ Melissa got to her feet. ‘There’s some lunch ready in the kitchen.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ protested Lou.

  ‘Well I am, I’m ravenous,’ declared Melissa. ‘And you won’t be much help to Rick if you starve yourself, so at least have a sandwich and a cup of coffee.’

  Reluctantly, Lou dragged herself upright and trailed behind Melissa. After some coaxing she struggled with a minuscule portion of chicken salad and half a slice of bread, all the while gazing at Melissa with the eyes of a frightened child.

  ‘They’re going to arrest Rick, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘He’ll be charged with murder.’

  ‘That depends on whether they believe his story,’ said Melissa. There was no point in glossing over the situation. ‘He’s going to have to answer some pretty tough questions.’

  ‘They’ve got to find him first,’ muttered Lou defiantly.

  ‘I’m afraid they’ll do that all too easily. The taxi-driver will probably remember picking you up, people on the train may have seen you . . . and of course they’ll question your friends.’

  ‘Steve wouldn’t give him away.’

  ‘I don’t think you can count on that. It’s a killer they’re after, not a burglar or a car thief.’

  ‘And you . . . you’re going to ring the police the minute I’ve gone, aren’t you?’ Suddenly hostile, the girl leapt to her feet and snatched up her handbag. ‘I thought you’d help us! I should never have come . . . just let me call a taxi and I won’t bother you any more!’

  ‘Now don’t go flying off the handle.’ Melissa put out a restraining hand. ‘The police are going to find Rick without any help from me – they may already have found him – and they’re going to want to talk to you as well. You’re a material witness . . . you talked to Angy the day before she was killed. You realise that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Lou in a dull voice. She stood with hunched shoulders, a pathetic picture of defeat and despair. ‘But Rick didn’t kill Angy, he swears he didn’t and I believe him. Somebody else must have done it. I thought perhaps you . . . you know about crime and detection and that sort of thing . . . ’ Her eyes were fixed on Melissa as if in quest of a miracle.

  ‘Is that what you had in mind when you talked about my helping you? My dear girl, I’m a writer, not a private investigator. Besides . . . ’ Melissa broke off, trying to think of a tactful way of stating the brutal, unpalatable truth. ‘You may be convinced of Rick’s innocence, but it’s asking a lot of me.’

  ‘I know he’s innocent!’ Despite her misgivings, the passionate sincerity in the girl’s declaration of faith struck a chord. Hadn’t she, Melissa, expressed just such a sentiment? But if Rick wasn’t the killer, what did that imply for Barney?

  ‘When he’s angry, he acts the fool – you saw what he did to the portrait – but he wouldn’t kill anyone. And he wasn’t angry when he went to see Angy, he was happy. He thought everything was going to be all right . . . ’

  ‘Something might have happened between them to make him lose his temper.’

  ‘It didn’t! She was already dead when he got there!’

  ‘So he says, but there’s going to be a lot of circumstantial evidence against him.’

  ‘It isn’t fair! Someone else killed her and Rick’s going to get the blame!’

  ‘He was very foolish not to tell the police right away. There may still be time before they get to him . . . why don’t you have another go at persuading him? Is there a phone at the studio? You can call from here if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, but it wouldn’t be any good. He wouldn’t even answer the phone.’

  Standing there in her denims and her cotton T-shirt, she looked like a lost, lonely child. Melissa stood up and put an arm round the thin shoulders.

  ‘Where are your parents, Lou? Why don’t you go to them?’

  ‘They’re in the States,’ Lou muttered. ‘My Dad works there.’

  ‘Really? So does my son.’ There was no response but the rigid stance seemed to soften a fraction. ‘He works for an oil company. Look at me, Lou.’ Melissa took the girl by the shoulders. ‘Do your parents know about this trouble you’re in?’

  Reluctantly, Lou met her eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘They’re on vacation in Hawaii at the moment. I haven’t spoken to them for nearly two weeks.’

  ‘Haven’t you any other relatives?’

  ‘Only my young brother. He’s in Germany with the army.’ Her voice wavered and her face crumpled. ‘I know I said horrid things about Angy but she was my friend and I . . . ’ A spasm of violent weeping threatened to tear the slight young body apart. Melissa took the girl in her arms and gently stroked her head until she became calmer.

  ‘I keep thinking of her, lying there in all that blood,’ Lou moaned between her sobs. ‘Rick’s so frightened! He didn’t kill her but he’ll go to prison just the same. What can we do? Please help us, Melissa . . . please!’

  ‘Sit down again for a while.’ Melissa pushed her gently
into a chair. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking. You told me you had a bit of a chat with Angy before you asked her about the ring.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want you to try and remember everything the two of you said, right from the beginning. What time did you get there, by the way?’

  ‘Soon after two o’clock. She finished at the college at one but she had some shopping to do.’

  ‘And you said her reception was friendly?’

  ‘Oh yes. She said, “Lulu, how lovely to see you!” and kissed me on both cheeks.’

  ‘So what then?’

  ‘She was making herself a sandwich in the kitchen and we went in there first while she ate it and made coffee for both of us.’

  ‘Did you notice any knives lying about?’

  Lou screwed up her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said after a pause. ‘Now you mention it, there was one of those wooden blocks with about six knives sticking out of it.’

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘Next to the cooker, I think . . . yes, it was. She had quite a few gadgets. She enjoyed cooking, especially Italian things.’

  ‘And what did you talk about?’

  It was plain that Lou’s recollection of everything prior to Rick’s discovery of the body had been blurred by shock but under Melissa’s gentle probing, details began to emerge. Angy had asked most of the questions at first . . . about Lou’s job with a fashion magazine, former acquaintances at college, recent visits to Uncle Vittorio and Aunt Rosina. She had spoken affectionately of them and shown Lou a postcard from Italy where they were spending a holiday.

  ‘Hm. Nothing very significant so far,’ Melissa commented when Lou paused for further thought. ‘Tell me about the ring. Is it an antique, by the way? You said it was an heirloom.’

  ‘It’s a garnet in a heavy gold setting . . . a gorgeous, blood-red stone.’ Lou looked down at her left hand with a wistful expression, as if picturing the jewel on her own finger.

  ‘And you say she kept it in a drawer?’

  ‘That’s right, in a cabinet next to her bed. It was in a leather box with a crest on it.’

  ‘And you asked her to give it to you so that you could return it to Rick. Was that before or after you’d had your chat?’

  Lou scowled. ‘After. I think she’d guessed what I’d really come about and was sort of savouring it, waiting to see how I’d approach the subject. She was so sure of herself, so self-satisfied!’ Like a fire that has been damped down but not extinguished, anger smouldered in Lou’s eyes.

  ‘Now don’t get worked up again. Did she talk about herself at all? Her job, her friends, people she worked with? What about boyfriends or lovers?’

  ‘I got the impression that she had several on a string.’ Lou frowned. ‘Now, how did that come up?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ suggested Melissa in a flash of inspiration, ‘she showed you sketches of them!’

  ‘That’s right. How did you know?’

  ‘I’ve seen them. I told you, I tutor at the college.’ It would be bad psychology to tell Lou that she had been shown them by the police.

  ‘I remember now!’ Suddenly, Lou came alive. ‘I’d been asking why she’d taken a clerical job when she’d had an art training and she said it was all she could get at first but after a while she’d managed to wangle this daytime class.’

  ‘Wangle? Is that the word she used?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it was. Some man at the college had arranged it for her . . . she more or less admitted she’d worked on him.’

  ‘What do you mean, worked on him?’

  ‘She said, “I showed him a bit of leg and he came running.” Then she said something like, “The poor sap’s been a bit of a pain since. I’ll have to do something about him but you know how I hate scenes.”’ Lou’s eyes flared in her pale, pointed face. ‘Oh, Melissa! Do you suppose he’s the one who killed her?’

  Cold fingers clawed at Melissa’s stomach. ‘Let’s not jump too far ahead,’ she said in a voice that was not quite steady. ‘Did you see a picture of this man?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . I might have done. She had this portfolio of crayon portraits. She asked me what I thought of them. They looked good . . . she was very talented, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I thought so too. Think about those portraits, Lou. Did you see them all? What did Angy say about them?’

  Lou made a helpless little gesture. ‘I can’t remember.’

  Melissa’s mouth had dried out and a pulse was vibrating like a pneumatic drill somewhere near her navel. ‘You can . . . you must!’ she insisted. ‘Concentrate! You’re an artist; use your visual memory. Picture that portfolio lying on the table . . . ’

  Lou pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘They were just heads . . . men and women. There was one who looked familiar. Of course!’ She looked up and stared at Melissa in sudden recollection. ‘It must have been you! I remember Angy saying, “She’s one of the tutors at the college.” ’

  ‘Go on,’ said Melissa quietly. ‘If you can remember that, you can remember the others if you try.’

  ‘She was picking them up at random and saying things like, “This boy’s in a wheelchair but that doesn’t stop him giving me the eye,” or, “This is the college stud but he cuts no ice with me.”’

  Doug Wilson, no doubt, thought Melissa, and young Godfrey Mellish who had been so firmly put in his place by Barney.

  ‘There were two of women in her class. One she said was new this term and quite talented, and the other did “twee little flower paintings”.’

  Poor Sybil, how hurt she would be to hear that. Still, Iris had encouraged her.

  ‘You’re doing splendidly,’ encouraged Melissa as Lou fell momentarily silent. ‘What about the “poor sap who’d become a bit of a pest”? Did she point him out?’

  ‘He could have been one of several.’

  ‘Can you describe any of them?’

  ‘There was one with a beard . . . ’ Barney, of course, ‘and a po-faced one with glasses . . . ’ Despite her anxiety, Melissa’s lips twitched at this description of Rodney Shergold, ‘and one she called “Eddie”. I had the feeling she rather liked him.’

  ‘So the “poor sap” she was going to have to “do something about” could have been either Po-face or,’ Melissa swallowed a hard lump swelling in her throat, ‘the one with the beard.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Can you remember which one?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Please, try!’

  ‘Honestly, I can’t.’

  Lou sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She looked utterly spent; there was nothing to be gained by pressing her further.

  With an effort, Melissa sifted mentally through all she had just heard. Was Rodney Shergold the ‘poor sap’? Supposing he’d agreed to let Angy take the art class in return for her favours? If he’d become too demanding, and ‘doing something about him’ meant ending the relationship, that could well have been a motive for killing her. Dudley Ford had his suspicions and the police seemed to have been doing a pretty thorough job on him . . . but Doug Wilson believed that Shergold lacked the nerve and she was inclined to agree with him. ‘So what about Barney, then?’ a voice whispered in her head. Barney, enraged by Angy’s taunts, had just as much motive and was a far stronger character . . .

  She felt exhausted. Every nerve had been strained in the effort to prompt Lou’s memory but what she had learned could do little to prove Barney’s innocence. On the contrary, said the voice, it could do his case untold damage. But surely, she reasoned, once they catch Lawrence, the police will demolish his story . . . the story that he and Lou have cooked up together. Perhaps this was all a conspiracy between them . . . they were trying it out on her first. Rubbish, said the voice, you’re getting as hysterical as Lou . . .

  ‘The police will have those sketches,’ she told Lou. ‘You could find yourself going through all this again.’

  Lou opened her eyes and sat up, looking bright and determined. ‘I don’t care wha
t they ask me if it helps them find the real killer. It must have been one of those men Angy sketched . . . the one she was talking about packing up. I think it was the man with the beard.’

  ‘You mustn’t say that if you aren’t sure!’ said Melissa sharply.

  ‘No, of course not. I’ll think about it on the way home.’

  ‘And you’ll get in touch with the police and tell them what you’ve told me?’

  ‘I . . . I’ll have to speak to Rick . . . ’

  ‘You asked me for my advice, and that’s it.’ Melissa glanced at the clock. ‘If you want to catch the four o’clock train, we’d better be leaving.’

  Fourteen

  When Melissa returned from taking Lou to the station, Iris was working in her garden. She looked up and waved as the Golf drove past and when Melissa had put it away and locked the garage door, she rammed her fork into the ground and strolled over for a chat.

  ‘Just had a load of muck delivered,’ she announced with a complacent nod in the direction of a sinister-looking mound at the bottom of her vegetable patch. ‘More than I need. Want some?’

  ‘Yes please, if you can spare any,’ said Melissa. It was a timely reminder that her own garden needed attention and in any case, mechanical tasks like digging and muck-spreading might have a therapeutic effect on her emotional system.

  ‘Wanted sheep but got cow, and it was promised weeks ago,’ Iris complained. ‘Well-rotted, though. Should be okay.’

  Melissa gave a wry smile. The provenance of a manure heap seemed of limited importance beside the problems presently exercising her mind.

  Iris scrutinised her, eagle-eyed. ‘You all right?’ she asked. ‘You look tuckered.’

  ‘I am. I’ve just had a visit from Lou Stacey.’

  ‘The girl you drove off with just now?’ Melissa nodded. ‘Thought she looked familiar. Quite presentable without the warpaint! What did she want with you?’