David Webb 10 - Three, Three, the Rivals

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Come in. I was half-expecting you.’

  He patted the dog which had come to greet him and followed her through to the kitchen, which smelt of baking. ‘This is a bit of a bombshell, isn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly is. Sit down. Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘If it’s no trouble.’

  ‘None at all.’

  She bustled about, setting out cups, putting some newly made gingerbread on a plate.

  ‘How did you hear of it?’ he asked her.

  ‘Janet Conway phoned, though at that stage we thought it was an accident. It was only this morning I heard—’

  She broke off, turned back to attend to the coffee. He watched her frowningly; she seemed more upset than he’d expected.

  ‘I suppose it is true,’ she added, setting coffee and gingerbread in front of him, ‘about it not being?’

  ‘Afraid so. Had he any enemies, would you say?’

  She gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Now Dad’s dead, you mean? Well, you can hardly count Dick Vernon; it’s donkeys’ years since he vanished.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘It’s a sobering thought that of the three of them, Dad was the only one to die naturally.’

  ‘We don’t know how — or if — Dick died.’

  She looked up at that. ‘You surely don’t think he’d anything to do with this?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Webb said roundly. ‘Though stranger things have happened. I’ll have to see old Mrs Vernon, anyway. She’s still alive, I take it?’

  She nodded absently, and he laid a hand on her arm. ‘Sheila, what’s the matter? Something’s worrying you; is it to do with old Makepeace’s death?’

  ‘I’m sorry he’s dead, of course, and in such a horrible way. But it’s not only that.’ She looked up, coming to a decision. Colin was sure to mention it anyway. ‘David — something rather odd happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He phoned me. On Monday evening, when I was at WI.’

  He stared at her. ‘Billy Makepeace?’

  ‘Yes. I wish to heaven I knew what he wanted.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. Were you on speaking terms?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve never spoken to him in my life — that’s what makes it so strange. But that afternoon I’d had tea at a café in the High Street, and he was at the next table.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Nothing, really. Perhaps he — just thought it was time to bury the hatchet.’ That had been Colin’s suggestion.

  ‘He’d hardly end a lifetime’s feud with a phone-call.’

  ‘He might have suggested meeting or something.’

  ‘Well, it seems we’ll never know. Who took the message?’

  ‘Lyn.’

  Webb grunted. His opinion of his niece was ambivalent. Though she apparently had brains enough to get into college, it was not apparent from her appearance. Small and waif-like, with enormous eyes and straggly hair, she habitually wore clothes too big for her — sloppy sweaters that hung round her hips, sleeves reaching to her fingertips, and dull black skirts flapping round her ankles. To Webb’s jaundiced eye she looked more like an appeal for the homeless than the child of relatively affluent parents studying for a degree.

  ‘What exactly did he say?’

  ‘Just asked to speak to me. Lyn said I was out, and he seemed a bit deflated, she thought. She asked if there was any message, but he said it didn’t matter and hung up. If I’d got home at the usual time I’d have phoned back, but there’d been a series of delays and it was after eleven-thirty.’

  ‘What time did he phone?’

  ‘I don’t know; I went out at seven-thirty, so after that. Does it matter?’

  ‘I wondered if he’d gone straight to the Farmers’ Club after making the phone-call.’

  ‘Again, does it matter?’

  ‘Sheila, at this stage I’ve no idea what “matters” and what doesn’t. I’m just trying to fill in his last few hours. You say he was in the café that day; was he alone?’

  ‘While I was there, but Janet said his daughter joined him later.’ Sheila looked at him with a half-smile. ‘Didn’t you once carry a torch for Jenny Makepeace?’

  ‘There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then.’

  ‘She married Jim Hawthorn but it didn’t work out. She’s now head receptionist at the Sandon Arms.’

  ‘Any children?’

  ‘No...’

  ‘What about the old couple: did they go out much?’

  ‘Billy did; he was quite a big noise, you know. A magistrate, for one thing, and on the town council. I saw him around quite a lot, specially on market days. Not Mrs Makepeace, though; she’s partially blind and doesn’t get about much these days. There’s been a farm manager at Longacre since Billy developed his heart trouble, though from all accounts he still kept a very close eye on things.’

  ‘Do you know him — the manager?’

  ‘Only by sight.’ She added ironically, ‘He’s part of the enemy camp, so there’s no contact between us.’

  ‘Or the Vernons?’

  ‘Or the Vernons.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be some contact now. With me, at any rate. And with the three men gone, it’s more than time the whole nonsense was forgotten. What’s the manager’s name?’

  ‘Croft, Jerry Croft. He looks pleasant enough, and his wife too. She’s a schoolteacher — takes the entry class at St Gay’s.’

  St Gay’s! The once-familiar abbreviation leapt at him out of the past, blessedly unsullied by modern usage. His happiest childhood memories were of St Gabriel’s Church School at the top of the High Street.

  He wrenched his mind back to the present. ‘Would you say he had any reason to shove his boss into the canal?’

  Sheila shuddered. ‘How awful it must be, having to suspect everyone.’

  Webb pushed back his chair and walked to the window, looking down the long garden which sloped towards the canal. ‘It seems Billy made a habit of walking home along the towpath. At what point would he come up on to the main road?’

  ‘Directly opposite the farm. There are open fields facing Longacre, so there’s easy access to and from the towpath.’

  ‘You’ve access yourself?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a gate in the bottom fence.’

  ‘Do you often go down there?’

  ‘Sometimes. It makes a pleasant stroll.’

  ‘Ever come face to face with old Billy?’

  ‘Never. But I think he only used it to go to and from the club. He went everywhere else in his Land-Rover.’

  Webb glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better be on my way. Thanks for the coffee, Sheila, and the information. If you think of anything else, will you let me know?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She hesitated. ‘When you see Mrs Makepeace, pass on our condolences, will you? And say if there’s anything I can do, to let me know.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Thanks, I will.’

  ‘Are you going straight over there?’

  ‘No, I’m meeting up with my sergeant now. And there are various people I want to speak to before I see the Makepeaces.’

  ‘Perhaps his wife will know why he phoned.’

  ‘You may be sure I’ll ask her.’

  She stood in the doorway as he walked over the gravel to the car. Then, as he bent to get into it, she called after him. ‘David, if you need to stay overnight at all, you’re welcome to come here.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.’

  The inside of the car was unbearably hot and he wound down all the windows. Over the hedge the Garden Centre was still doing thriving business. Lifting his hand in farewell, Webb eased his way out on to the main road and turned back towards Erlesborough.

  *

  The Narrow Boat pub was a popular lunch-time venue, particularly, in the summer, the tables outside overlooking the canal. Webb saw Jackson ensconced at one as he came out of the bar door, and walked over the grass to join him. He was
aware that he’d been short with Ken and owed him an explanation. The trouble was knowing where to start.

  ‘Got you a pint lined up, Guv, since there was such a crush at the bar. I’ve kept it cool in the shade.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Webb took a deep, appreciative draught. ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘The solicitor seems OK, but it turns out Makepeace was one of their clients.’

  ‘Ah-ha! Then he’ll need a closer look than if he’d fished a complete stranger out of the water. Mind, in a town this size most people are connected in one way or another.’

  ‘He seemed quite shaken, specially now it’s a murder case.’

  ‘Had he any ideas on possible suspects?’

  Jackson studiously avoided his eye. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Go on, Ken. What did he say?’

  ‘That the only one he could think of was dead himself.’ Jackson’s eyes were still on his plate.

  ‘Did he give a name?’

  The sergeant flushed, but answered doggedly, ‘John Webb, Guv.’

  ‘Who, you will doubtless have deduced, was my father.’

  ‘It did seem a coincidence, like. Specially since—’ He broke off and hastily drained his tankard.

  ‘Specially since I’ve been behaving like a bear with a sore head ever since this case came up? I’m sorry, Ken. I was going to put you in the picture, even before this. Get yourself a refill and while you’re at it, grab us a couple of pies, and then I’ll fill you in.’

  Jackson was quite a while — the bar was busy and he had to wait his turn for the food — but Webb scarcely noticed his absence. He sat morosely staring down at the table, where the shadow of the umbrella moved lazily in the faint breeze and forgotten images flickered in front of his eyes: fights in the school playground; his father’s face, tight with anger; a girl in a cotton dress. They belonged in the past, he told himself, they had no power over him now. But he knew their shadow lay heavily across him.

  ‘It’s like a madhouse in there.’ Jackson stood above him, offloading glasses and plates from a round tin tray, and the cheerful clatter broke the spell.

  Webb roused himself and helped to distribute the cutlery. ‘Right, Ken,’ he said, as Jackson seated himself, ‘while we eat I’ll sketch in some of the background.’ He cut a piece of pie, loaded it with mustard and pickle, then laid his knife down again. Jackson, however, curious though he was to know the Governor’s role in all this, did not allow the fact to stay his appetite, and tucked in with enthusiasm.

  Webb watched him in silence for a few minutes, clenching the handle of his tankard. Then he cleared his throat. ‘You’ll have gathered that I grew up in this town.’

  Jackson nodded. ‘You’d never mentioned it before, though.’ It had come as a surprise to him, while he waited at the bar, to realize how little he knew of Webb’s background.

  Webb continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Consequently I knew Makepeace when I was a boy, though I wasn’t allowed to speak to him.’

  Jackson looked up at that and Webb nodded heavily. ‘I know it sounds absurd but he, my father and another man were sworn enemies and all us children were supposed to carry on the feud.’

  ‘Sounds like the Mafia,’ commented Jackson with his mouth full.

  ‘They took it just about as seriously, as I discovered when I broke the rule and got beaten for it.’

  Jackson had a wild, disturbing image of himself taking the strap to Paul or Tim, and dismissed it as untenable. ‘That was a bit steep,’ he said.

  ‘It was my own fault. My father was a hard man, and his word was law.’

  ‘But what caused the upset in the first place?’

  ‘It went back to their schooldays, though I don’t know the details. It was never talked about in my presence and surreptitious questions got me nowhere.’

  Jackson ate for some minutes in silence. Then he asked, ‘What about the other chap? You said there were three of them.’

  ‘That was odd — one of those unexplained disappearances. One evening he told his wife he was going out for cigarettes and was never seen again.’

  ‘Good grief! How long ago was that?’

  Webb shrugged. ‘Forty years or so.’

  ‘And they never found out what happened to him?’

  ‘Nope. But he was in an emotional state at the time and it was assumed he’d lost his memory. He could still be alive somewhere, leading a seemingly normal life but with no knowledge of his past.’

  Jackson shook his head wonderingly, grateful for his own uneventful childhood.

  ‘None of this is particularly relevant,’ Webb went on more briskly, ‘but since you might hear some wild stories during this investigation, I thought it as well to put the facts straight. And you’ve my permission to pass them on to the lads should the need arise.’

  Jackson pushed his empty plate away and said thoughtfully, ‘Will they speak to you now, Guv? The families, I mean.’

  ‘They won’t have much option. I’m the investigating officer in a murder case.’

  ‘But it might make things awkward, like.’

  ‘The Chief Super doesn’t think so,’ Webb said drily. ‘Naturally I told him the position, but he felt the background knowledge would be useful.’ He thought briefly of Fleming’s airy dismissal of his doubts. ‘Anyway, Ken, how did you get on at the Farmers’ Club?’ And at last he picked up his knife and fork and began to eat.

  ‘They were all discussing it when I arrived. Only too ready to answer questions, including several I didn’t ask, but nothing really useful came up. As we know, Makepeace had been in on Monday night. He arrived late, which was unusual, and seemed to have something on his mind. Didn’t join in as he normally did.’

  ‘Was any reason given?’

  ‘No; several of them asked if he was all right, but he just brushed them off.’

  ‘Did he leave at the normal time?’

  ‘Yes, soon after eleven. A couple of other men left with him and they walked along Bridge Street together as far as the bridge, where Makepeace went down the steps to the towpath.’

  ‘They didn’t see anyone else down there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a mugging; there was over a hundred pounds in his wallet. So who did he meet on the towpath, Ken? And was the meeting a chance one, or carefully planned?’

  ‘We need to go back through the day, don’t we, Guv? There might be a lead there.’

  ‘Well, for a start we know he was at a café in the High Street about four o’clock.’

  Jackson looked surprised. ‘Do we?’

  ‘So my sister tells me.’

  This time, Jackson bit back his surprise. Strewth, the Governor was playing this one close to his chest, for all his apparent openness. So that was where he’d been before lunch.

  ‘What I’d like to know,’ Webb was continuing, ‘is why he was late arriving at the club. He’d have been on foot, of course. But first—’ he pushed the remaining food to the side of his plate — ‘we’d better have a word with the police surgeon. What was his name again?’

  ‘Dr Adams,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Good lord — really? I didn’t pick that up at the briefing.’ Which didn’t surprise Jackson — the Governor hadn’t been his usual astute self by any means. ‘Fancy him still being around,’ he was continuing. ‘He came here when he was newly qualified and married old Nairn’s receptionist a year or two later.’

  Jackson supposed stoically that the Chief Super knew what he was doing, but this remembrance-of-times-past routine was getting a bit much, and the case had only just started.

  ‘Right, Ken, we’ll start with Dr Adams and see where that gets us.’ And before Jackson had got to his feet, Webb was already striding across the grass towards the pub car park.

  CHAPTER 3

  ‘David was here,’ Sheila greeted her husband, when he came in for lunch.

  ‘So it’s landed on his plate. There’s irony for you. Was it a social call?’

  �
��Not really, he wanted anything I could tell him on Mr Makepeace.’

  ‘You mentioned the phone-call?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he make of it?’

  ‘He was as astonished as we were.’

  Colin said thoughtfully, ‘It’s certainly odd, that the old man should break the habit of a lifetime on the day he died.’

  Sheila shuddered. ‘And after seeing him in the café, too. In one day, I had more contact with him than I’d had in my entire life.’

  ‘I’d hardly call being in the same café and a missed phone call, contact.’

  ‘You know what I mean. Is Stephen coming?’

  ‘In a couple of minutes; he’s overseeing a delivery.’

  Sheila put the salad bowl on the table. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen David on duty, but he was just the same. It sounds silly, but I always think of him more as a policeman than a brother.’

  Colin smiled. ‘He is rather a solemn chap. I don’t even remember you being close as children.’

  ‘No, he was very much the elder brother. And it didn’t help that Dad always spoiled me and was hard on him, probably because he was the boy.’

  The back door was flung open and Stephen came in, putting an end to the discussion. Abandoning her reminiscences, his mother started to serve the lunch.

  *

  The doctor’s house was where it had always been, halfway up the hill which led off the High Street. Webb’s gratification at finding it was, however, tempered on reading the neatly framed notice on the gate.

  SURGERY HOURS

  Doctors Adams, Sinclair and Barnes hold their surgery at the Health Centre, 124 Bridge Street, from 9.0 a.m.-11.0 a.m. and from 5.0 p.m.-7.0 p.m. every weekday. In case of emergency, telephone Erlesborough 7653.

  Webb swore softly and glanced at his watch. It was just after two. ‘We might catch him in his lunch-hour,’ he said over his shoulder to Jackson, and walked up the gravelled path to the door. A pale woman in late middle-age answered his ring, in whom Webb could just recognize the pretty receptionist of forty years ago.

  ‘I’m sorry, the surgery—’ she began, but Webb cut her short.

  ‘Mrs Adams? I’m Chief Inspector Webb of Shillingham CID. Is the doctor at home?’