A Trio of Murders: A Perfect Match, Redemption, Death of a Dancer

by Jill McGown

  ‘Now and then,’ he said. ‘It’s probably the weather.’

  She nodded. ‘Have the police been to see you?’ she asked.

  ‘Why should they see me?’

  ‘No reason. They seem to have spoken to everyone else, that’s all.’

  He shook his head. ‘I saw them,’ he said. ‘In the middle of the night – but it was Sam they were interested in. They didn’t ask me anything.’

  In the middle of the night? What on earth had Sam done that had got them so suspicious?

  ‘Why were they interested in Sam?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it was just because he wasn’t around when they arrived,’ he said. ‘And he’d changed.’

  Caroline swallowed. ‘He wasn’t here? Do you know where he was?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me.’ He shrugged. ‘And of course he wouldn’t tell them.’ He smiled again. ‘Can’t you get done for using abusive language to a police officer?’

  Caroline began to understand that the police weren’t really picking on Sam. He was picking on them, enjoying being under suspicion, wanting to make them look foolish, if he could.

  Philip was looking at her again, his eyes hungry. She tried to ignore it; it wasn’t easy, but she was used to it by now.

  ‘Is Sam working on a painting?’ she asked, breaking the silence.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Do you get on all right with him?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He’s not too bad.’

  Caroline wasn’t at all sure she agreed, but she smiled. ‘What did you think of his dinner-jacket?’ she asked.

  Philip’s face broke into his sudden smile, despite the pain, despite whatever his imagination was up to. ‘It was fantastic, wasn’t it?’ he said, turning back into the person she liked. ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she said.

  ‘No.’ He got to his feet, his face growing pale with the effort.

  ‘Philip – are you sure you shouldn’t go to the doctor?’

  ‘I’m all right!’ He limped over to the kettle, and shook it before plugging it in. ‘When did you see his jacket?’ he asked.

  ‘He came to see me at the Hamlyns’,’ she said.

  Philip smiled a little shyly. ‘Are you and Sam . . . well, a couple?’

  ‘No!’ she said vehemently. ‘We’ve been out a few times. That’s all.’

  ‘Oh – none of my business. I just . . .’

  ‘What’s he been saying?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Philip said, spooning coffee into two mugs. ‘Well – you know Sam.’

  Yes, she knew Sam.

  Philip poured the water on to the coffee, then picked up one mug, and reached over to her, the knuckles of his other hand white as they gripped the stick.

  The stick. That was what it was. He was using an NHS one.

  ‘Where’s your proper stick?’ she asked.

  ‘This one’s better when it’s bad,’ he said.

  Caroline drank her coffee, but he was at it again before she’d finished; she hurried it, and left.

  Matthew watched with dismay the comings and goings of the police, of lab technicians, photographers. They were everywhere. They’d found his hiding-place.

  Could they prove anything? If they could, it would be better if he told them himself. Admitted the thefts, saved them the time and trouble of finding him. Let them get on with the serious business. Almost heroic, he told himself.

  No – not heroic. Frightened. That would be better. He’d get sympathy then. He could tell them he had been too scared to come forward. Too scared, by what he knew. The sergeant would go for that, he decided, as he watched her talking to one of the teachers. She had a kind face. He would make a full confession. But not now. Not here. After a struggle with his conscience; after he had convinced himself that the police wouldn’t let any harm come to him.

  Yes, he thought, as he left the house and walked along the lane to the school, that would be best.

  He was going to offer Mrs Knight some help in setting up some project that she was doing for Monday. He’d heard her mention it to Treadwell; she had said she would need the key for the storeroom. Before, that would have presented a glorious opportunity to take something, and make it look like she had done it. He walked quickly through the drizzle to the main building, and along past the office to the storeroom, where the door was open, and he could see Mrs Knight reaching up to the top shelf for some old books.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he said.

  She turned quickly, her hand at her mouth, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘Oh, Matthew,’ she said, breathless. ‘I thought there was no one else in the building. You gave me a fright.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘Not your fault,’ she said. ‘Are you taller than me?’

  He came in and stood beside her, but there was no difference in their heights. ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, looking round.

  There was a pile of out-of-date encyclopaedias, and he began piling up the enormous old books.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘What if you fell?’

  ‘I won’t fall.’ He really did seem to have frightened her; he supposed, now he came to think of it, that it wasn’t surprising. He constructed a platform of books, and tested it with one foot. It seemed quite stable.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘All right. You hand them down to me.’

  They got them all down, and began transporting them to the classroom. He met her on the stair as he went back down after dumping his first load; she seemed calmer. But she had been nervy since her husband’s accident; Mrs Hamlyn’s being murdered wouldn’t have done her much good.

  ‘In the Barn,’ said Judy. ‘Some of the boys found them. Shoes, bag, tights, the lot. One of the shoes was squashed. And the underwear and tights were in the bag.’

  ‘Why didn’t anyone check the Barn last night?’ Lloyd demanded.

  They had obediently parked in the car park, and were walking through the lane, making for the main building. Lloyd held the door open for her with a flourish. ‘Ladies first,’ he said, with a grin.

  ‘Because no one knew the Barn had anything to do with it,’ said Judy. Including Lloyd, but she thought it wiser not to point that out.

  It was like any other school building on a Saturday; somewhere, they could hear the caretaker, raking out the boiler, doing whatever uncanny things caretakers did to heating systems to ensure that they belted out heat all weekend and broke down at precisely six o’clock on Monday morning. Judy was instantly transported to her grandmother’s warm kitchen; would that she could be, she thought, as her heels rang out on the uncarpeted corridor, making the place seem chillier than ever.

  ‘I suppose every kid in the school got his fingerprints all over them,’ said Lloyd gloomily, as he pushed open the office door.

  They had temporarily taken over Treadwell’s office; Judy once again looked out at the Barn, and was furious with herself for not having got it checked as soon as Treadwell mentioned it. ‘Of course they did,’ she said, turning from the window. ‘I suppose everyone makes mistakes,’ she added, almost to herself.

  Lloyd laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Even me.’

  ‘But Treadwell said he’d looked there,’ she said, turning back.

  ‘I don’t know who you’re arguing with. No one’s blaming you. As you said – no one knew it had anything to do with it.’ He joined her at the window as one of the scene-of-crime officers emerged from the Barn and lit a cigarette.

  ‘So what do you make of it?’ he asked.

  ‘She was raped in the Barn, ran away, and he caught up with her on the playing-field,’ she said.

  ‘You know Freddie’s theory.’

  Judy knew Freddie’s theory, and she didn’t think much of it. And the Barn seemed no more likely a place for consenting sex than the field, not in the middle of winter.

  ‘Her pants and tights were in her bag,’ Lloyd said, correctly interpreting her silence. ‘Isn�
�t that more likely to be something she would do?’

  ‘You’re asking that as though I were some sort of expert on the protocol,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ he laughed. ‘It’s not always been in bed, has it?’

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘It has,’ he said gleefully. ‘We’ll have to remedy that.’

  ‘Don’t you have some sort of rule about not mixing our private lives and our professional lives?’ she reminded him sharply.

  ‘I didn’t mean right now,’ he said.

  He was in one of his skittish moods, when she would wonder what she ever saw in him in the first place. Sometimes if she so much as said his name in the wrong tone of voice he’d be reminding her about his rule.

  ‘Let’s hope Freddie can tell us a bit more tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Tonight?’ Judy repeated.

  ‘We’re all going for a drink,’ he said.

  ‘You and me and Freddie?’ she said. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘You and I and Freddie,’ he corrected.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve got something to celebrate,’ he said.

  Her heart plunged, but she didn’t let it sway her from her investigation. ‘You invited Freddie for a drink because we’ve got something to celebrate?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, no. Freddie invited me. Yesterday. But since we’ve got something to celebrate, I’m inviting you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’ll just be for an hour or so,’ he said. ‘Before he goes home to the long-suffering Mrs Freddie. But he might be able to tell us something in advance of the report. You don’t mind, do you?’

  She shook her head, smiling. She liked Freddie. And she liked the fact that he constantly chatted her up, and that this irritated Lloyd, which served him right for being at times so excessively irritating himself.

  She gave him the gist of her interview with Caroline Knight.

  ‘Do you think Sam’s our man?’ he asked.

  Judy shrugged. ‘We only know as much as she’s prepared to say. Women do sometimes protect men in these circumstances.’

  ‘You concede that, do you?’ said Lloyd.

  ‘And she was careful to say that she wasn’t all that keen on him,’ Judy said, ignoring him.

  ‘We’ll talk to Waters. Tell him we know what sort of mood he was in when he left Mrs Knight. That might rattle him a bit.’

  ‘Any chance of eating first?’ Judy asked, alarmed that he might abandon lunch in favour of talking to Waters. She had to get the chance to tell him, or she would have to go round with this lead weight inside her all day, and she didn’t think she could stand that.

  ‘You bet,’ he said. ‘I’m told there’s a pub round here does a very good lunch. We’ll tackle Mr Waters after some food.’

  She wished he wasn’t in such a good mood, as they went back along the lane to the car park through a cold snow-filled rain that saturated everything.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, as they drove out of the gates. ‘We won’t get lost – I got directions from Bob Sandwell.’

  They didn’t get lost, and already she could see the pub sign. Lloyd would soon be off-duty and available to be Spoken To. He pulled into the car park, which was up a three-in-one gradient, and parked the car in an impossible space, with an ease that Judy always envied.

  Judy’s stomach churned. Music played at a pleasant level, and they were in a private, intimate booth for two in the dining-room. The place was full; people must come for miles, Judy thought, so the food must be good. She wouldn’t know, as she pushed it about her plate, but he was enjoying it, and she had no desire to ruin his lunch into the bargain. She would have to wait until he had finished.

  As the coffee arrived, Lloyd beamed at her. ‘I was talking to the chief super this morning,’ he said.

  Please, please, don’t let it be a long story, she thought. He was deliberately not asking her about Michael. Saving it up, in the same way as he opened all his bills and junk mail before he opened real letters.

  ‘Lloyd, I—’

  ‘And he said to me, “Lloyd,” he said, “is Sergeant Hill really a left-wing feminist lesbian from Islington, or is someone having me on?” And I said, “Someone is having you on, sir. She’s a left-wing feminist lesbian from Southwark.”’

  Judy managed a smile. She wasn’t going to be able to stop him, so she might as well let him tell his story. ‘I take it that the bit about talking to the chief super is true,’ she said. ‘Let’s go from there.’

  ‘He asked if last night was just a gut reaction on your part, or were you a bit political about it.’

  ‘He actually said “gut reaction”?’ she asked.

  Lloyd smiled. ‘He did. Don’t blame me. So I said that you held very firm views on the treatment of rape. And he said that he might give you an argument on some of the finer points, but that he just wanted to be sure it wasn’t a feminist stand.’

  Judy frowned a little.

  ‘And then he said that they were thinking of transferring you to Malworth, instead of to Barton.’

  Her face fell. ‘Barton would be more exciting,’ she said. ‘I thought they needed a DI.’

  ‘They do. But they can have any old DI. At Malworth, you would be heading up a small CID section, and second-in-command of the station. Congratulations.’ He smiled. ‘He said some stuff about ability and leadership and courage – but you don’t want to hear all that.’

  ‘Well,’ she said.

  ‘That’s it? Well?’ He called the waiter, and gave him his credit card. ‘They’re trying you out, Judy. Seeing how you handle command. Before I know where I am you’ll be back here as my superintendent.’

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ she said, and took a breath. ‘Well, maybe I should give you my news now.’ And she told him, watching him go from delighted to disbelieving.

  ‘Judy – leaving him means that you move out!’

  The waiter came back, and Lloyd signed the chit angrily. She had known it would be like this. She waited for the waiter to go away again. ‘Lloyd, Michael and I have been married for over ten years, and this is the first favour he’s asked.’

  ‘So of course you have to grant it.’

  ‘Yes!’ she said hotly.

  ‘Why, for God’s sake? He’s going to try to hang on to you! You know that as well as I do! What sort of basis will it be on? A sort of ménage à trois? “I’m off now, dear, just popping over to Lloyd’s. I’ll be back in time to make your hot chocolate.” I know you! You’ll still be looking at your bloody watch!’

  His voice was growing louder; Judy could see people look round the corners of the other booths.

  ‘He’s given you a safety-net. You’re not going to leave him.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ she said.

  ‘He knows you’ll never go if he can stop you now.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ she protested in an agonised whisper. She should have known not to embark on this in a public place. ‘It’s – it’s difficult,’ she said. ‘I can’t just walk out like I was going to.’ And now she would have to betray Michael, too. She had to explain. ‘I didn’t realise how much he needs me.’

  ‘And I don’t?’

  ‘You’ve got me.’

  Lloyd got up and left.

  Judy looked under her eyelashes at the people who tried not to look as though they were looking at her. The waiter brought back the credit card, and left it on the table.

  With slow determination, Judy finished her coffee, picked up his credit card, left a tip, thanked the staff, and walked out into the car park. He was still there.

  Judy got in, and neither of them spoke until she finally broke the deadlock.

  ‘I owe him this much,’ she said stubbornly. ‘It’s only until June.’

  He didn’t even look at her, as he started the car, and lunchtime was over.

  They drove in silence back to the school; this time, Lloyd swept angrily past the NO ROAD TRAFFIC BEYOND THIS POINT notice, and parked right
in front of the building.

  Back up in Treadwell’s office, Lloyd made phone calls while Judy went over her notes. That pen was odd, she thought. Why wasn’t it reported? Maybe she should show it to a few people. She took it out again, and looked at it more closely.

  ‘Waters,’ Lloyd said, as he hung up the phone. ‘Let’s talk to him.’

  ‘Just what I was going to say,’ she said, and followed Lloyd out into the corridor.

  They frowned at one another as the noises reached them from one of the classrooms, the door of which stood ajar; a strange scraping sound, and a woman’s voice uttering mild, slightly breathless oaths. Lloyd went first, pushing open the door, and they watched Caroline Knight continue her argument with the easel she was setting up until it was finally upright; she straightened up, and saw them.

  ‘You win on points,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘Were you looking for someone?’ she asked, smiling.

  ‘No,’ said Lloyd. ‘We’ve commandeered the headmaster’s office.’

  ‘That’s the lot, Mrs Knight.’

  Judy turned to see the head boy again. She still couldn’t remember his name.

  ‘Hello, Sergeant Hill,’ he said politely.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘It’s . . .’

  ‘Matthew,’ he said, with a smile.

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

  He put down the briefcase he carried, and shrugged on the expensively casual leather jacket that lay over one of the chairs, his elegance fully restored. He still reminded her of someone.

  ‘Matthew’s helping me set up a project,’ said Mrs Knight.

  ‘He might have done better helping you set up the easel,’ said Lloyd.

  She laughed.

  ‘I locked the door,’ said Matthew, handing her a key.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been a great help, Matthew.’

  It was as he turned to leave that Judy finally nailed it. Michael. He reminded her of Michael. Articulate, easy with people, self-confident. And vulnerable. She remembered the bewildered, angular boy who had stared at the police activity, and thought of Michael, a little boy who had lost his mother in Woolworth’s. Matthew and Michael, she thought. Hebrew names. Like Sam’s, like her own. She knew a lot about names since trying to discover Lloyd’s dark secret. She glanced at him, struck by a new thought. Was it biblical, this frightful name?