by Jill McGown
Lloyd laughed. ‘Kids?’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I managed to get over for a little while on Boxing Day.’
‘How is everyone?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Except – Linda’s got some ridiculous idea about going to London. She’s far too young.’
Judy smiled. ‘I hope you didn’t tell her that,’ she said.
‘No. In fact, I wondered . . .’
Judy raised an eyebrow, recognising the wheedling tone.
‘You were a single girl in London,’ he said. ‘You know how difficult it is – accommodation, that sort of thing. I thought you might talk to her.’
‘There wouldn’t be much point,’ said Judy.
‘Why not?’
‘For one thing, I lived with my parents, which is hardly the same thing: I don’t know any more than she does about flat-hunting and finding a job – probably a lot less.’
Lloyd looked glum.
‘And for another – Linda can barely bring herself to speak to me.’
‘Oh, no,’ Lloyd assured her. ‘She’s over all that, I’m sure.’
‘Is she?’ said Judy, disbelievingly. ‘All right – she says hello if we meet, but she still doesn’t think much of the idea of you and me.’ She sipped her drink. ‘It must run in the family,’ she said.
‘Judy,’ Lloyd began. ‘I don’t—’
‘I know, I know. I’m breaking the rules. But since you won’t see me in anything other than working hours, I—’
The door banged open, and a middle-aged woman breezed in.
‘You got back then,’ said the landlady, unnecessarily. ‘Did you have a nice time?’
‘Oh, you know,’ said the other woman. ‘So so. It’s nice to be back in my own house.’ She hung things up on various pegs. ‘But anyway—’ she began, excitedly.
‘You didn’t have too much trouble getting there?’ interrupted the landlady.
‘What? Oh – it was past midnight before I arrived. You wouldn’t believe the number of cars out at that time on Christmas Eve. But never mind that,’ she said. ‘I can’t turn my back for five minutes, can I?’
Judy could see the landlady in the mirrored wall, as she mouthed ‘police’, nodding over to their table.
The barmaid, for such she proved to be, looked over at Judy. ‘We can’t go to jail for talking about it, can we?’ she asked, with a laugh.
Judy smiled.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ she said, and turned back to the landlady. ‘I felt awful when I heard,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’d made a joke about it – you know the way you do.’
‘A joke?’ queried Lloyd, twisting round.
‘About her black eyes. She said she’d been to the dentist, and I said something about her husband getting funny looks. I never dreamed it was her husband. And now . . .’
Villages. Judy didn’t know how people could bear to live in them, with everyone knowing everyone else’s business. When she had been Joanna’s age, she would have died if she had thought her private life was common knowledge.
And when she had been Joanna’s age, she reflected, her private life had been Lloyd, just as it was now. A secret, guilt-ridden, unconsummated love affair. She glanced at Lloyd, who was joining in the gossip. What was it now, now that it had been consummated? There was no guilt; Barbara was no longer part of Lloyd’s life, and Judy owed Michael nothing. But there was still secrecy, because once Michael found out, champion of Victorian values that he was, her bridges would be burned, and she wasn’t sure she could face that. And because of that, she was right back where she had been, when she had been Joanna’s age. Sitting opposite Lloyd in a pub, staring unhappily into a half pint of lager, trying to disguise her cowardice as principle, and failing.
‘They say he put her in hospital,’ finished the barmaid.
‘I’d heard that that was why she’d left him,’ said the landlady. ‘I didn’t believe it myself. A vicar’s daughter.’
‘You never told me!’
‘No. Well. You shouldn’t repeat gossip.’
‘See what I have to put up with?’ the barmaid demanded.
Judy laughed; Lloyd picked up his drink. ‘So you were here on Christmas Eve, then?’ he said. ‘And you spoke to Mrs Elstow?’
‘Who? Oh – is that her name? Only for a minute. She was with her father – they were talking about something. In fact,’ she said, ‘he was angry with her, I’m sure. I remember thinking that the poor little girl could do with some sympathy, not being glared at.’
‘Did you notice when Mrs Elstow left?’ Lloyd asked.
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘No, sorry. We were packed – well, you know what it’s like on Christmas Eve.’ She thought hard. ‘No, I just don’t remember,’ she said. ‘I know when he left, though. The vicar.’
Lloyd turned back, glancing at Judy. ‘They didn’t leave together?’ he asked carelessly, finishing his beer. He stood up. ‘I’ll have another one in there, love,’ he said.
She pulled another pint, and handed it to him. ‘He left on his own,’ she said. ‘About half past eight. There’s always carols on Christmas Eve, and the pianist came in just as Mr Wheeler was leaving. I thought it was funny, because he and his wife normally stay for that. I wondered if she wasn’t well, because she’s usually with him. I don’t think that girl was well enough to be out, quite honestly . . .’
She chattered on, and Lloyd looked as though he wasn’t really listening, as he sat at the bar, reflectively sipping the beer Judy knew he didn’t want. But he was paying much more careful attention than the barmaid suspected, for through her he was learning the habits of the Wheelers on Christmas Eve.
Habits which had, for one reason or another, been broken.
‘Why did you do it?’ Joanna was asking, her face sad and cross at the same time. It was the first time she had mentioned it; Marian had thought that she had escaped interrogation.
‘The inspector thinks I wanted to be a martyr,’ she said. ‘But that wasn’t it.’
‘You can’t really blame him,’ said Joanna.
Marian considered her motives, now that she had been asked. ‘I just think,’ she said, after a few moments, ‘that if you love someone, you should be prepared to help them.’
Joanna’s eyes widened. ‘But it was crazy!’ she said. ‘And unnecessary. You didn’t have to do something like that.’
‘People don’t think it odd if someone dies saving their child from a fire,’ Marian said. ‘They don’t call them martyrs.’
‘But I didn’t do it!’ Joanna shouted suddenly. ‘Everyone thinks I did – but I didn’t, I swear I didn’t.’
The front door banged, and George came back from wherever he had been. Marian could hazard a guess.
‘It’s very slippery at the top here,’ he said. ‘I almost broke my neck.’
‘I’ll put some ash down, shall I?’ Joanna said, getting up.
Marian didn’t think that was at all a good idea. ‘No, dear,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you—’ She stopped. ‘It’s a very dirty job,’ she said.
‘I’ll wear the overalls,’ said Joanna.
‘I’ll do it,’ said George.
‘But you’re not well,’ protested Joanna.
George sighed. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘Doing something physical might help.’
Marian rather thought that was just what he had been doing. It didn’t seem to help at all.
‘It’s just all this business,’ he said.
Marian saw Joanna’s eyes flash. Joanna was sometimes so like George.
‘You’re sick because you think I killed Graham,’ she shouted. ‘That’s why you told the police you were with me all evening!’
Well, thought Marian. It was the reason advanced, at any rate. But unlike Joanna, she knew the real reason for the lie.
‘I don’t think you did it. I just thought it would clear you of any suspicion. It was stupid, I know. But it’s done now.’
‘You lied to them. Either you think I did it, or—’
>
‘You think I killed him? I wish I had, Joanna. Believe me, I wish I had.’
Marian didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to know.
‘Yes! Because then you could take the blame. You think I did it – you both do! The police do – and now they’ll be convinced,’ she added, with a flash of something less than gratitude at Marian. ‘You don’t have to lie for me, do you understand? I can take care of myself.’
‘Oh, can you? Then perhaps you’ll enlighten us—’
‘That’s enough!’ Marian’s voice, rarely raised, brought the shouting to a halt. Normality. Ever since Graham Elstow had turned up, she had got by on normality, and so would they.
‘Sorry,’ muttered George. ‘We’re all a bit on edge.’
‘Me too,’ said Joanna, sitting down.
Marian relaxed. That was better.
Joanna frowned slightly. ‘Where are the overalls?’ she asked.
‘I’m doing the path,’ said George firmly.
‘No – I mean where are they?’
Lloyd relieved himself of some of his liquid intake, and sighed. So, he thought, George and Marian always stayed for the carol-singing, which went on until ten-thirty. But this year, everything was different. It probably meant nothing, he told himself. But George must have gone somewhere.
He came out of the gents, and stopped at the door of the lounge bar, as he saw Judy. She looked a little sad, sitting there on her own, he thought, and he wished that things were different.
It still looked odd to him, a woman alone in a pub, but he was doubtless a male chauvinist. He breezed in. ‘Right?’ he said.
‘Right.’ She finished her drink and stood up.
‘I’ve a good mind to charge the lot of them,’ he said, as they left.
‘You don’t have enough evidence.’
‘We know they’ve all lied to us.’ He unlocked the car angrily, dropping the keys in the snow. He swore, and picked them up. ‘We know Marian Wheeler interfered with the scene of the crime.’
‘All that proves is that they’ve protected Joanna from the cradle,’ said Judy briskly.
He opened her door, and she got in beside him. ‘I think that’s why Elstow got so violent,’ she added.
Lloyd grunted.
‘Did you look at those photographs of Joanna on the kitchen wall?’ she asked. ‘Joanna crawling, Joanna walking, Joanna’s first tooth, first day at school – no wedding photographs. No photograph of Graham Elstow at all.’
‘Are you surprised?’ asked Lloyd.
Judy nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Well,’ said Lloyd, reversing gingerly on to Castle Road. ‘They’d hardly have Joanna’s first black eye, would they?’
‘But there’s never been any,’ Judy persisted. ‘They’re all written up – there haven’t been any removed. They’re in date order,’ she said. ‘And her wedding’s been ignored.’
Lloyd got the car pointing the right way, and stopped.
‘And George Wheeler was angry with her,’ Judy went on. ‘About Elstow. He wasn’t frightened for her, like her mother. Joanna makes him angry.’
‘What does that prove? She makes me angry too. Why the hell did she put up with it?’
Judy sighed, ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘because she knew, really, why Elstow behaved like that. Imagine it, Lloyd. Coming up against all that jealousy. It was as if he didn’t exist.’ She turned to him. ‘Elstow was frustrated,’ she said. ‘And no wonder. How would you feel?’
He smiled at the worried brown eyes that looked into his. ‘Well, I wouldn’t start knocking you about,’ he said. ‘I’d probably buy a twelve-year-old malt, sit down, and have a long heart to heart with your father.’
‘Not everyone has your way with words, Inspector Lloyd,’ Judy said, smiling. ‘And not everyone is a push-over for expensive whisky.’
‘Your father is,’ said Lloyd.
Her face grew serious again. ‘My father isn’t in love with me.’
Lloyd started the engine again. ‘Wheeler and his daughter?’ he said. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ said Judy.
Lloyd pulled out on to the main road, and headed for the vicarage. ‘Spiritual or physical?’ he asked.
‘Who knows? Behind closed doors, and all that.’
Lloyd settled in behind a lorry. ‘Reciprocated?’ He glanced at her.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not even sure I really believe that. But why didn’t she go up to Graham?’
‘I asked you that,’ said Lloyd.
‘I’m not sure she knew what she wanted,’ Judy said.
‘I think she did,’ said Lloyd grimly. ‘She wanted rid of Elstow.’
‘I don’t think she had anything to do with killing him,’ Judy said. ‘It’s Wheeler who left the pub, remember.’
So Wheeler killed him? It was possible, Lloyd thought, in theory. But there was a practical side to murder, particularly this murder, where the Wheeler solution just didn’t fit. Clothes. They’d found nothing. No clothing of any sort. And Wheeler was wearing the clothes he’d worn in the pub when he and Judy arrived at the vicarage on Christmas morning. He smiled at his next thought. Surely the congregation would have noticed if his clerical robes had been covered in blood? His smile vanished. Had anyone checked the vestry?
‘We are dealing with a family of pathological liars,’ he reminded her.
‘I think Joanna’s telling the truth,’ she said.
‘The whole truth?’ he asked, and she didn’t answer.
He did trust Judy’s instincts. But perhaps Elstow had trusted his, and look how he ended up.
For the next few minutes, he formulated several ways of telling Judy that he was quite prepared to share her with Michael. He didn’t utter any of them, partly because they were in working hours, and he ought to obey his own rule, partly because it wasn’t really true, and partly because she might tell him the offer was closed.
The castle’s pale stone walls were just visible through the naked trees as they drove up to the Wheelers’ drive. It was no more than a ten-minute walk over the fields, sharing the hilltop with the vicarage. Lloyd could even see the stables, but only because they had cleared the land for fanning. In the Civil War, the castle had been totally camouflaged; it had commanded views of all comers from all sides, and couldn’t be seen itself. It had succumbed to the Roundheads’ gunpowder in the end, but as Eleanor had pointed out, it had survived. In daylight, it looked settled, peaceful. Pretty, even, in the winter light. But at night. . . He shivered again.
George Wheeler was waving a dustbin about. Lloyd frowned, but as they got closer, he could see what he was doing. They got out of the car.
‘Good morning,’ Lloyd said.
Wheeler scattered more ash. ‘Doesn’t look very pretty,’ he said. ‘But it works. This is something you can’t do in centrally heated houses, now I come to think of it. Perhaps we’re not so badly off, after all.’
‘I’d like a word, Mr Wheeler.’
‘Oh?’ he said, shaking out dark gritty ash as he walked along. ‘What about? Have you come to arrest my wife for cleaning her own landing? She tells me you intend to prosecute. Don’t you think you’d be better employed looking for who really did it?’
Lloyd, who had never had the least desire to use his fists, knew how Elstow must have felt. But he recognised bravado when he heard it. This was George fighting his desire to throw up. This was George thinking that attack was the best method of defence.
Wheeler had stopped blustering, and stood waiting for a reply. So Lloyd didn’t speak at all. And he could stand there in silence all day, if he had to. Judy affected a deep interest in her notebook. For a long time, all three of them stood, saying nothing at all.
The disintegration of George, thought Lloyd, as he watched Wheeler’s eyes begin to move furtively from him to Judy, and back. He wiped his upper lip. ‘Well?’ he said.
‘Well what, Mr Wheeler?’ asked Lloy
d, politely.
Wheeler didn’t speak, and Lloyd looked down at the grey ash on the white snow, a fair approximation of Wheeler’s complexion.
‘Look,’ said Wheeler. ‘Marian went out, someone came in – and you haven’t lifted a finger to find out who, or why. You’re tearing this family apart, do you know that?’
Lloyd looked up from his contemplation of the black-speckled ash at his feet, stung into a reaction.
‘We have carried out extensive enquiries in the village,’ he said. ‘We have been searching for days for any trace at all of someone gaining entry to your house. We’re looking in six-foot high snow-drifts for abandoned clothing.’ His feet crunched on the ash as he moved toward Wheeler, having to look up at the taller man. ‘Your wife destroyed evidence, and misled us quite deliberately,’ he said. ‘So don’t blame me for what’s happening to your family, Mr Wheeler!’
George Wheeler looked down for a moment, then picked up the dustbin again.
‘If you really want to help,’ Judy said, stepping out of the way of a cloud of dust, ‘you’ll tell us where you were on Christmas Eve.’
‘I was at the pub with my daughter,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you a dozen times.’ He tapped the last of the gritty ash from the bin, and put it down.
‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk,’ said Lloyd quietly.
Wheeler hesitated. ‘My study,’ he said, in the end, and led the way to the house, where Marian Wheeler and Joanna met them in the hallway.
‘Joanna,’ said Judy. ‘Could we have a word, do you think?’
The girl looked apprehensively at her mother.
‘You can come into the kitchen,’ said Mrs Wheeler.
‘Oh, I don’t want to put you out of your own kitchen, Mrs Wheeler,’ said Judy.
