by Jill McGown
Lloyd raised his eyebrows. ‘There would be a lot more blood and guts in here if Judy heard you say that,’ he said. ‘What’s her sexual history got to do with it?’
‘It makes rape easier to achieve, and harder to detect, for one thing,’ said Freddie. ‘And with rape and murder you usually find—’
‘Usually!’ snorted Lloyd. ‘Rape murders aren’t usual.’
‘They’re getting that way,’ said Kathy.
They both turned, to look at her, rather as if the corpse had spoken, and Kathy looked faintly guilty for having an opinion at all, but she carried on, glaring at Lloyd.
‘It used to be something people did if they went crazy,’ she said. ‘Now it’s something they do if there’s nothing good on the telly.’
‘– that the rape itself is extremely violent,’ Freddie said, determinedly finishing his sentence.
‘It sounded violent enough to me,’ Lloyd said, waving a hand at Kathy’s notes.
‘And me,’ said Kathy, obviously emboldened by the discovery that she did not get struck by lightning for speaking her mind.
‘There was a not inconsiderable degree of sexual violence,’ agreed Freddie. ‘It was crude, and very forceful. But, if that had been that, it’s quite probable that she wouldn’t even have sought medical assistance. Her injuries would have mended themselves. And they were occasioned before the head injuries,’ he added. ‘But she didn’t fight back.’ He indicated her fingernails. ‘These could do a lot of damage,’ he said. ‘She didn’t use them.’
‘Perhaps she couldn’t get her hands free,’ said Lloyd.
Freddie admitted the possibility with a slight nod of his head. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘If the attack had taken place in a confined area, where she couldn’t move freely. But, as you so Welshly point out, it took place in the middle of a field, et cetera. And there is no indication that she was restrained in any way.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘In any sense of the word,’ he added.
Lloyd glanced at Kathy, but she was letting that pass. Judy wouldn’t have.
‘The ground was rock hard, and uneven,’ Freddie went on. ‘She wasn’t forcibly pinned to it, or there would be indications.’ He paused. ‘The sexual violence was’ – Freddie thought for a moment – ‘cynical, if you like. The sexual equivalent of a professional foul. He wasn’t out of control. He knew what he was doing.’
Lloyd listened thoughtfully as Freddie almost echoed his words to Judy.
‘I don’t think you’re looking for someone who frenziedly raped and murdered her as she was crossing the field,’ said Freddie.
‘What are we looking for?’ Lloyd asked.
‘Whoever killed her was certainly very frightened – or very angry. The murder was particularly violent. And in that context the sex wasn’t. She could have put that down to experience. Quite probably a not entirely new experience – possibly not even an unwelcome experience.’
Lloyd’s eyes narrowed a little as he tried to work out what Freddie really thought. Freddie’s opinions were rarely offered; it didn’t do to dismiss them. Or very angry, he had said. ‘Do you think she was killed because she had been discovered with someone?’ he asked.
Freddie raised reproving eyebrows. ‘That’s a theory, Lloyd,’ he said. ‘I don’t have theories. Facts, the odd opinion if I feel strongly enough . . .’
‘The very odd opinion,’ grumbled Lloyd. ‘Are you seriously saying that she consented to sex in the middle of a field, et cetera? I don’t care how many men she had before breakfast – she wasn’t about to do that.’
‘No,’ conceded Freddie. ‘But she could have been chased on to the field from somewhere else. We’ve found nothing yet to confirm that anything other than the murder took place on the field – we’re still looking, of course, but the intercourse could well have happened somewhere else.’
‘Why do you have to take a perfectly obvious rape murder and complicate it?’
But he was giving Freddie’s opinion his consideration all the same. Hamlyn? Did he find her with someone, and kill her in a terrible rage? That seemed to be what Freddie was unofficially suggesting. Freddie who never had theories, because they always came to grief.
‘Where would he get hold of a golf-club?’ Lloyd asked. ‘If it was some sort of row that blew up after the sex?’
Freddie smiled. ‘Not my job,’ he said. ‘The facts are that it certainly looks like rape, and that the rape’ – he glanced at Kathy, and smiled seriously – ‘though fairly violent, wasn’t as violent as the murder. We won’t have the results of the tests for a while – before that, anything is guesswork. So, as far as my preliminary report is concerned, Mrs Hamlyn was raped and murdered.’
‘Good,’ said Lloyd.
‘She died between ten-fifteen and eleven-fifteen,’ Freddie said. ‘I could stretch that to eleven-thirty, but no more. She had been dead at least two hours when I first saw her, and she was last seen alive at ten-fifteen.’
Lloyd nodded. At last, something was going his way. Most murders weren’t discovered soon enough to have that good an estimate of the time. But it meant that his theory about Hamlyn had come to grief already.
Waters had a little bit of talking to do, though, and he wasn’t going to find Lloyd such an uncritical listener this time.
‘Did you think Mrs Hamlyn was with Sam Waters?’
Treadwell rubbed his hands over his face. He had a hangover, and this woman was going to be here for the rest of his life, asking him questions, the same questions, over and over again. ‘She did have a bit of a . . . a thing with him, once. But that was well over a year ago. It wasn’t still going on.’
‘But her husband thought she was with him?’
‘Well, as I said, she left forty-five minutes after he did,’ said Treadwell. ‘That doesn’t sound like even circumstantial evidence to me. But Robert made a bit of an exhibition of himself about it.’
‘Are you surprised?’ she asked.
‘Well, I don’t think—’ He stopped. He’d already been made to discuss things that he would never normally discuss with a woman. Not even Marcia. He had never spoken to her about Mrs Hamlyn’s behaviour with that young man in the Barn; he had not wanted to speak to Sergeant Hill about it.
‘You didn’t think she was with Mr Waters,’ she said, her pen moving over the pages.
Perhaps he could try to make it clear without having to go into any sort of detail. ‘The boys danced the first dance with the ladies – just a silly sort of token thing for Valentine’s Day,’ he said. ‘As soon as Diana had finished dancing, she made a bee-line for Philip Newby. I’m not exaggerating – she practically fell over young Matthew Cawston in her hurry to get to him. She talked to him for a few moments, and then she left.’
She waited patiently while he worked out how to phrase the next part.
‘He watched her leave,’ he said. ‘And I understand that he said his leg was bad. But he moved out of there fast enough, believe me.’
She wrote it all down, but her question wasn’t about Newby, and she couldn’t have made it much plainer.
‘Do you know if Mr Waters did go straight to see Mrs Knight?’ she asked.
‘How would I know?’ he said, almost shouting at the stupid woman who couldn’t see what was staring her in the face.
‘Was he with her when she was told about Mrs Hamlyn?’
‘No,’ said Treadwell. This seemed to have nothing to do with anything, but at least he could talk about it. ‘Dearden said she was on her own – he was a bit worried, because he already thought she seemed jumpy, even before he told her about Diana. But that was half past two in the morning, so I’d hardly expect Sam to have been with her.’
‘Everyone left her on her own?’ Sergeant Hill asked. ‘After what had happened to Mrs Hamlyn?’
Oh, God. ‘Yes,’ said Treadwell. ‘I know it must seem a bit—’
‘No one even went to check up on her until half past two?’ she asked incredulously.
‘No.’
‘You didn’t rin
g Mrs Knight back,’ the sergeant carried on remorselessly.
‘Sorry?’ said Treadwell, desperately hanging on to the ropes.
‘When you failed to find Mrs Hamlyn – you didn’t ring Mrs Knight. Why was that?’
‘I had left my guests for rather too long as it was,’ said Treadwell. ‘Caroline would have gathered that I hadn’t found her.’
She didn’t believe him, but if she had been going to question him further, he was saved by the door opening, and two of the boys tumbling in excitedly, without even knocking.
‘Sir! We’ve found these!’
‘I’m glad I caught you,’ Sergeant Hill said. ‘I’d like to have another word with you, if it’s convenient.’
Caroline invited her in. ‘Take a seat,’ she said.
Sergeant Hill sat down, and took her notebook from her handbag.
Caroline sat down, too, a little warily. ‘I don’t think I can tell you any more than I did last night,’ she said.
The sergeant smiled. ‘I think perhaps you can,’ she said pleasantly. ‘There are a few things – things that might not have seemed relevant last night.’
Caroline sat back a little, trying to look relaxed, like she did at the dentist. But the efficient, smartly dressed, quick-witted Sergeant Hill made her feel even more uncomfortable than the dentist’s chair ever had.
‘Did Mr Waters stand you up last night?’ she asked suddenly.
Caroline was taken by surprise, as she was meant to be, and she had no time to think. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, he didn’t.’ What if he had? Caroline didn’t know why she was being asked.
‘But your plans – to go to the cinema, was it? – fell through.’
Caroline shrugged slightly. ‘It’s a film club,’ she said. ‘Not really a cinema. Of course they fell through. Diana didn’t turn up,’ she said sarcastically.
A tiny frown appeared on Sergeant Hill’s brow. ‘I don’t think,’ she said, consulting her notebook, ‘that that was what you said yesterday, was it?’
Caroline didn’t know what she’d said yesterday. She wasn’t sure what she was saying now.
‘Here it is,’ said Sergeant Hill. ‘My plans had fallen through anyway.’ She looked up. ‘Anyway,’ she repeated. ‘Whether or not Mr Treadwell had been able to locate Mrs Hamlyn?’
Caroline felt cornered. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was going to be too late for us to go by then.’
‘At quarter to eleven? Surely it didn’t start until midnight?’
Caroline assumed the question was rhetorical. ‘Was Mr Waters with you when you rang the Hall?’
‘No,’ said Caroline.
Sergeant Hill looked puzzled. ‘But he had been with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So when did he leave?’
Caroline didn’t answer, as she tried to gather her thoughts. She didn’t know why they were so interested in Sam. But all his remarks and comments about Diana were echoing in her head, and if he’d said that sort of thing to the police . . .
‘About what time did Mr Waters arrive?’
‘Half past nine or so.’
‘And leave?’
‘He left at about ten past ten, I think,’ Caroline said, still not sure what relevance Sam’s movements had.
‘Oh? Did you have some sort of argument?’
‘He went to change his clothes,’ said Caroline, feigning puzzlement. ‘He was wearing a ridiculous dinner-jacket – I wasn’t going out with him in that.’
‘But when Mr Waters did go out he wore jeans and a sweater. You were all dressed up, Mrs Knight.’
‘I don’t understand!’ Caroline shouted. ‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’
‘On television they ask if the deceased had any enemies,’ said Sergeant Hill. ‘I’m afraid we’re more likely to ask if she had any friends.’
‘But why pick on Sam?’
‘We’re not picking on him,’ the sergeant said calmly. ‘But Mr Waters has refused to tell us anything, including where he was. So I have to find out from other people. It’s my job, Mrs Knight.’
‘To suspect everyone who isn’t prepared to tell you all his private business?’
‘I’m afraid privacy is at something of a premium in the wake of a murder,’ she said.
Caroline made an exasperated noise. ‘Sam’s just being pig-headed!’
‘Perhaps he is,’ she said. ‘Had you had an argument? Or were you never really going out with him at all? Was that an excuse so that Mr Waters could leave the ball early?’
Caroline frowned. What was that supposed to mean? It was none of her business anyway.
‘If he was here, he left early. Did you have a row?’
Oh, God. Caroline could see his baffled face again, and her own face grew hot. ‘What makes you think that?’ she asked, trying to give herself time to think.
‘I think perhaps you rang to tell Mrs Hamlyn that she needn’t come at all.’
‘So?’
‘You were meant to be going out together, but Mr Waters left after half an hour.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘In my experience, that equals a row.’
‘Yes, all right! We had a . . . disagreement – what of it?’ Caroline didn’t know how to cope with this. Everything she said seemed to get her in deeper.
‘What was it about?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you!’
‘Someone raped and killed Mrs Hamlyn,’ she said, her voice still maddeningly calm, like someone manning a Samaritan line. ‘That’s got something to do with me.’
My God, she thought it was Sam.
‘Sam didn’t rape her!’ she shouted, more to convince herself than Sergeant Hill. ‘I know what he’s like – I know the sort of things he says and does. But he wouldn’t rape someone! My God, if he’d been going to rape anyone, it would have been me!’ She could hear her own voice echoing in the air for what seemed like hours after she had spoken.
‘It would have been you?’ repeated Sergeant Hill quietly.
Now what had she done? Caroline couldn’t believe she’d said it. How had she made her say it? She dropped her head in her hands.
‘Mrs Knight,’ she heard the sergeant say. ‘You are going to have to explain that.’
Caroline wouldn’t look at her. Her hands still covered her face.
‘Mrs Knight?’ she said again, after a moment. Still calm, still patient.
Caroline looked at her.
‘Are you saying that Mr Waters tried to assault you?’
‘No!’ said Caroline, horrified. She took a moment, then tried to explain. ‘I know Sam swears and says outrageous things,’ she said. ‘He tries to shock people all the time. I don’t even like him all that much. And last night was a mistake – things just got out of hand. It wasn’t his fault,’ she said quickly. She pushed back a straying strand of hair. ‘I didn’t mean to, but . . . I – I suppose I gave him the wrong idea.’ Her nerve deserted her a little under the sergeant’s unwavering gaze, and she stopped speaking.
‘Go on,’ said Sergeant Hill.
‘I stopped him,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t very happy about it – that’s why he left. He didn’t do anything.’
Sergeant Hill showed no reaction.
‘I don’t know why he didn’t just say he was with me, except that it did end like that, and – well, that might just be Sam’s version of chivalry.’
The truth. It was a relief, in a way. But now what would she think about Sam? And what if he had . . .
‘I was going to tell Diana not to bother coming back early,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘But when I couldn’t speak to her I decided to go anyway. By myself.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose I would have had the nerve.’
She was going, thank God. But she stopped at the door. ‘Did Mr Waters frighten you?’ she asked.
Caroline shook her head.
‘Did something frighten you? Mr Dearden seemed to think you were already a little nervous before you knew about Mrs Hamlyn.’
Caroline s
ighed. ‘I think there was some sort of prowler here last night,’ she said.
‘Oh?’ She came back in, and sat down again.
‘I . . . I think someone was watching me,’ she said. ‘When I was changing.’
‘Where did you change?’ she asked.
‘In the Hamlyns’ bedroom. I felt as if someone was watching – but I ignored it. And then – well, the curtains don’t close properly, and . . .’ She shivered again, as she thought of it. ‘I’m sure I saw someone,’ she said.
‘Did you look out?’
‘No!’ No, she had run into the living-room, too scared to look.
‘When was this?’
‘Just after eleven,’ she said.
‘Were you going to keep that to yourself?’ Sergeant Hill asked, her tone still polite, interested, like a television interviewer.
‘I – I thought perhaps it was . . .’ No. No, she couldn’t say she thought it was Sam, trying to upset her. ‘My imagination,’ she finished.
The sergeant wrote that down. ‘Thank you,’ she said, standing up again.
Caroline showed her downstairs, and out of the building, more to assure herself that the woman had actually gone than out of courtesy. She began to climb the stairs again, then stopped, and looked reflectively at the door of the downstairs flat. Then she turned, came back down, and knocked.
After a moment, Philip opened it, and smiled, but she could see the pain he was in.
‘Wasn’t he in the art room?’ he asked. ‘He’s not back yet, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh – yes, he was,’ she said. ‘I just came to see if you were all right.’
‘Of course I am,’ he said, affecting surprise.
She shook her head. ‘You can hardly walk,’ she said.
‘I was in a road accident,’ he said, his voice bitter. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’
‘You know what I mean! You can’t even stand up straight. Should you see your doctor?’
‘No!’ he said firmly. But he stood aside. ‘Are you coming in?’ he asked.
She hesitated, then went in. ‘Does it often get as bad as this?’ she asked, sitting down.
He moved slowly to the sofa, and lowered himself down, leaning on his stick. There was something different about him, apart from the obvious difficulty he was having in moving. Caroline couldn’t quite work out what it was.
