David Webb 10 - Three, Three, the Rivals

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Extremely well, thank you, Chief Inspector,’ said a crisp voice from behind him, and he turned quickly to see Mrs Vernon standing in the doorway. He rose to his feet as Tom said sharply,

  ‘We asked you to stay in your room, Ma.’

  ‘And I chose not to.’ She looked Webb up and down. ‘You’ve done well for yourself, David, no thanks to your father.’ She walked into the room, and Webb awkwardly gestured towards the chair he’d vacated. She took it with a gracious nod. Apart from looking older, she was the same sharp-eyed woman he remembered. Adults didn’t change, he reflected; it was the metamorphosis from childhood that was often unrecognizable.

  ‘I’m still a director of the firm,’ she told him. ‘I come in at least twice a week to see how things are going. I was interested to see how you’d conduct this interview, and from what I overheard, you carried it off better than my sons did.’

  ‘Really, Ma!’ Larry shuffled papers irritably.

  ‘And if you want to know where I was on Monday evening, I was at home, though I’ve no way of proving it. Nor am I going to say I regret Billy’s death, because 1 don’t.’

  Webb smiled in spite of himself. ‘That’s refreshingly honest.’

  ‘He was a stubborn, awkward old fool, with too high an opinion of himself. If Dick had been here, he’d have put an end to this farce years ago, but Billy and your father were too stiff-necked to budge.’

  Webb, seizing the opening, said gently, ‘You never heard from your husband, Mrs Vernon?’

  He saw her quick tremor, instantly suppressed. ‘No. Amnesia’s often permanent, you know. I can only hope he’s found happiness elsewhere.’ She looked up, holding Webb’s eyes with a steady gaze. ‘He didn’t leave me deliberately. I’m convinced of that.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Mrs Vernon.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you. There were a number of sightings, mainly in the London area, but he’d always moved on by the time we got there.’

  Webb would have liked to pursue the conversation. He’d his own reasons for hoping Dick was still alive, but it was not his disappearance they were investigating. Not, that is, unless he really had come back and topped his old rival which, after forty years, seemed unlikely.

  ‘Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. It might be necessary to see you again, but in the meantime, thank you for your time.’ And, nodding to Jackson to follow him, he walked from the room, aware of three pairs of assessing eyes on his back.

  Out on the pavement he turned to Jackson. ‘I want a look at the café where the old man met his daughter. What was it called? Something fancy.’

  Jackson consulted his notebook. ‘La Bree-otch,’ he said.

  Webb snorted. ‘In my day, we had Betty’s Caff. Right, where is it, then?’

  ‘Down near the Sandon Arms, Guv. I noticed it yesterday.’

  That figured; Jenny had slipped out to meet her father. For a moment his mind lingered on her. He’d received her message on his arrival at Silver Street, and they’d arranged to meet in the Abbey Gardens at one. Slightly uneasily, he wondered what she wanted.

  ‘And it’s a good time for elevenses, and all,’ Jackson was saying hopefully as they walked down the High Street.

  ‘All right, we’ll have a quick coffee when we’ve spoken to the waitress.’

  La Brioche was a bit chi-chi for Webb’s taste, and, he’d have thought, for Billy’s. Jenny’s choice, no doubt. There were check tablecloths in various colours, with matching crockery in each case. Their arrival had turned several heads — obviously they were not the usual type of customer — and a waitress approached to show them to a table. Webb produced his warrant card and asked his first question.

  Her face sobered respectfully. ‘Yes, sir. I remember the old gentleman.’

  ‘Do you remember where he sat on Monday?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve all been talking about it. It was that table down there, where the lady in the blue dress is.’

  The table indicated was adjacent to those against the wall, with not much space between them.

  ‘Who was at the nearest wall table?’ Webb inquired.

  ‘Three of my regular ladies, sir.’

  ‘Do you know their names?’

  ‘One’s Mrs Fairchild, from the Garden Centre. I know, because I’ve seen her there.’

  So Sheila was as close to Makepeace as that. ‘I suppose you were pretty full?’

  She looked surprised at his perception. ‘Yes, we were. The gentleman asked if he could sit somewhere else, but there wasn’t a space.’

  ‘His daughter joined him later, I believe. Did anyone speak to him before she arrived?’

  ‘Not that I saw, sir.’

  ‘You didn’t happen to hear what they were talking about? As you brought the tea, I mean,’ he added hastily as she drew herself up.

  ‘No, I didn’t. I was too busy taking orders and serving to worry about that. We’re short-staffed at holiday times and I was run off my feet.’

  Not that she’d have admitted it if she had heard anything; they were within earshot of several tables and customers might get the wrong impression.

  At what stage, Webb wondered, had Billy decided to phone Sheila? During tea, or afterwards? And, for God’s sake, why?

  Beside him, Jackson shifted from one foot to the other.

  ‘Right,’ Webb said to the girl, ‘thanks for your help. While we’re here, we’ll have some coffee. And a couple of teacakes,’ he added, as Jackson cleared his throat reprovingly.

  ‘Certainly, sir. If you’d like to sit here?’

  She showed them to a table near the empty fireplace, screened now by an arrangement of artificial flowers and feathers. Jackson, employing his powers of detection, asked tentatively, ‘Would Mrs Fairchild be your sister, Guv?’

  ‘She would indeed, Ken.’

  ‘And the old man rang her later, though he’d never spoken to her?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘She didn’t know why?’

  ‘Couldn’t imagine.’

  ‘Might it have been because of something he heard her say?’

  ‘Seeing how close the tables are, that possibility had occurred to me,’ Webb said drily. ‘When we’ve finished here, I’ll give her a ring.’

  Their coffee arrived, together with teacakes oozing butter, and, shelving their discussion, they settled down to enjoy them.

  *

  Webb phoned Sheila half an hour later, from Silver Street.

  ‘I’ve just been to that Brioche place to see the lie of the land,’ he told her. ‘The tables are pretty close together, aren’t they?’

  ‘It’s a popular place.’

  ‘Who were you with on Monday?’

  ‘Janet Conway and Angela Turner. I don’t think you know them.’

  ‘And old Makepeace was at the next table?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Since he was alone at that point, he probably overheard your conversation.’

  She was silent.

  ‘So?’ he prompted. ‘What were you talking about?’

  ‘All kinds of things,’ she said evasively.

  ‘Such as?’ He was finding it hard to be patient with her. The fact that it was old Billy’s death they were investigating was no excuse for her lack of cooperation.

  She said unwillingly, ‘Janet was telling us about a film she’d seen.’

  His interest waned, but he asked perforce, ‘What was it?’

  ‘A ghost story of some kind. I don’t remember the title. She said she’d been afraid to put the light out after seeing it.’

  ‘What else did you talk about?’

  ‘David, I can’t remember!’ she answered, with what seemed unnecessary vehemence. ‘I really can’t see the point of all this.’

  He changed tack slightly. ‘Well, did you notice if anyone approached old Makepeace, spoke to him?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘How did he seem? Interested in what was going on, or deep in
thought?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! I didn’t even know he was there till I looked up and saw him staring at me.’

  ‘That’s odd; I’d have expected him to pretend not to see you.’

  Sheila said hurriedly, ‘Look, I have to go — there’s something on the stove.’ And she put down the phone.

  In her office off the kitchen, Sheila drew a deep breath. She knew she’d been unhelpful, knew David was annoyed with her. But she’d no intention of launching into that ghost business again. The dream had returned last night, and she’d woken this morning feeling like a wet rag. All she wanted was to consign it once and for all to oblivion. Anyway, she didn’t for a moment believe Janet’s contention that Mr Makepeace was interested in her story. Though, she remembered uncomfortably, he had phoned her that evening.

  With an impatient shake of her head she returned to her lunch preparations.

  ‘Not much help there,’ Webb was reporting to Jackson. ‘My sister and her friends were only discussing a film.’

  ‘Perhaps the other ladies said something after she’d gone?’

  ‘Then why didn’t he phone them? They weren’t involved in the feud.’ Webb sat for a moment in silence, staring at the desk which had been assigned to him.

  ‘All the same, Ken, it wouldn’t do any harm to see them. Since they were still there when his daughter arrived, they might have overheard something. We’ll get on to them after lunch. In the meantime, Mrs Hawthorn’s asked to see me, so perhaps she’ll tell me herself. I shouldn’t be long, and while I’m tied up you can make yourself useful by doing a bit of alibi-checking at the Crown and the Cricket Club.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Emerging from Silver Street on to the High Street, Webb was directly opposite the archway leading to the Abbey Gardens. To his impatient amusement, his mouth was dry. It was, after all, nearly thirty years since he’d had a rendezvous with Jenny, and on the last occasion he’d been soundly beaten for it. It had proved to be the final straw, the deciding factor which crystallized his decision to leave home and join the police force. All in all, a meeting of some consequence.

  Seeing a gap in the traffic, he crossed the road and made his way under the arch to the soothing greenery of the gardens. Immediately the noise and hassle fell away behind him and he felt himself relax. Lawns and flowerbeds stretched on all sides, and to his right lay the ruins of the Benedictine abbey which had once stood on the site.

  He looked about him. On the seats, groups of girls sat eating their lunch and older women rested from their shopping. Several people, taking advantage of their lunch-hour to do some sunbathing, had spread themselves out on the grass. There was no sign of Jenny, and he was glad of the breathing space to marshal his thoughts.

  Seeing her again yesterday had been oddly disturbing. She was, after all, his first love, Juliet to his Romeo, braving the wrath of their opposing families. And because they’d been forcibly separated, his feelings for her — and, who knew, perhaps hers for him — had not been allowed to wither naturally like most boy-and-girl affairs. She had remained his lost love, forbidden fruit, an object of unsatisfied desire.

  Nor had she changed that much. In the edgy woman he had seen at Longacre, it was still possible to discern the young girl with her trusting eyes and sweet, oddly vulnerable, mouth.

  He started to walk slowly down the path, aware of the various scents that reached him — nicotiana, pinks, mock orange. At the foot of the gardens the River Kittle wound its way under a small stone bridge, and some children were throwing bread to the ducks beneath.

  He glanced at his watch, turned and started to walk back again, and it was then that he saw her hurrying through the archway, her dress a splash of vermilion as she came out of its shadows into full sunlight. He stopped, waiting for her to join him. She was wearing sunglasses, which afforded her a privacy he did not himself have.

  ‘I’m sorry to have kept you,’ she said breathlessly as she reached him. ‘Someone phoned with a cancellation just as I was leaving.’

  ‘No problem. Would you like to walk?’

  ‘Yes, it might be — easier.’

  He fell into step beside her, retracing the path he’d taken moments before. Around them, children played ball, dogs chased each other, old men dozed, but they walked in a silence of their own.

  Breaking it, Webb said, ‘You’ve something to tell me?’

  ‘Yes. After you’d gone, Mother remembered that Dad did make two phone-calls on Monday.’

  Webb glanced sideways at her. ‘Two?’

  She nodded. ‘But both were brief, and she assumed he’d not got hold of whoever he wanted.’

  ‘She doesn’t know who he rang?’

  ‘No, he used the upstairs phone. I don’t suppose she was interested at the time; he made a lot of calls, what with church committees and his work on the Bench.’

  ‘Assuming one was to Sheila, who was out, the other could have been successful, even if short. Confirming an appointment for that evening, say.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said doubtfully, ‘but he was going to the club.’

  ‘Yet he was late getting there, which was unusual. Since he left home at the normal time, he must have gone somewhere first.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said again.

  ‘You’ve no idea where that could have been?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘It’s important to find out, Jenny.’

  ‘I realize that.’

  They had reached a vacant seat, and by unspoken consent sat down. ‘There’s another thing I wanted to say,’ she began diffidently.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You told Mother you didn’t know the reason for all the trouble.’

  ‘That’s right.’ His voice quickened. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Between Dad and the other two, yes, but that’s only half of it. Dick and your father remained, if not friends, at least on speaking terms for a year or two after that.’

  ‘There were two separate rifts? I didn’t realize.’

  ‘Well, as I say, I only know Dad’s side of it. He told me years ago.’

  There was a brief silence as Webb wondered whether, after all this time, he really wanted to hear it. Two, probably all three, of the men were dead. What did it matter now? But he heard himself say, ‘What happened, then?’

  She did not reply at once, and the air was filled with the sharp cries of a pair of ducks fighting over some bread. Webb watched them, the brilliant blues and greens of their plumage vivid in the sunlight. Then she said, ‘When he was young, my father was an outstanding athlete. He specialized in sprinting and the long jump, and was chosen several times to represent England.’

  Webb looked at her in surprise. ‘I always remember him with a stick.’

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a deep sigh, ‘As you know, the three of them were at school together, but although they were rivals, I gather there wasn’t any real animosity. That started when they were twenty-one, and it was all so unnecessary, so tragic!’ Her voice quivered.

  Webb said nothing, waiting tensely at her side until she felt able to go on.

  ‘They’d been to a party and they were very drunk. When it was time to go home, they all piled into a car — people thought nothing of it in those days. Of course, none of them was insured; Dick had borrowed his father’s car without permission.

  ‘Dad hadn’t had as much as the others because he was in training and shouldn’t have been drinking anyway. Well, there was a lot of fooling around, and he belatedly came to his senses and decided to get out and walk. But it was a two-door car and the others wouldn’t let him out. They were in the front, laughing uproariously and fighting for the steering-wheel. The car suddenly started up and went careering off down the road.’ She paused. ‘You can guess what happened. They crashed sideways-on into a tree — it’s a wonder they weren’t all killed. The other two were hardly scratched, but Dad broke his leg in three places.’ She paused, and added flatly, ‘He’d just started training for the Olympics.
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  ‘Really, of course, they were all to blame, but Dad, beside himself at the collapse of his dreams, needed to lash out and the others were the obvious target. They were devastated at what had happened and tried several times to visit him, but he refused point-blank to see them. He was in hospital for months, and had to be represented when the court case came up. That was when it became very nasty, with accusations being hurled about and everyone blaming everyone else. But as far as Dad was concerned, the others had got off scot-free, while his entire life had been ruined.’

  Webb was still watching the ducks. ‘You’re right, it is a tragic story; and it’s being re-enacted, with slight variations, almost every day of the week.’

  ‘He said he’d been ready to make it up years ago, but by then the other two were at daggers drawn and it was all too complicated.’

  ‘How long ago did he tell you this?’

  She said steadily, ‘When you ran away from home.’

  Webb digested that for a moment. ‘Had he minded our seeing each other?’

  She shook her head. ‘I think he hoped it might bring him and John together.’

  Webb said grimly, ‘My father didn’t see it that way. When he found out we’d been meeting, he took the strap to me.’

  ‘Oh, David!’ she said softly. ‘I never knew. Was that why you left?’

  ‘Partly; I went to Shillingham and found myself a job in a goods depot till I was old enough to join the police. I’d let Mother know where I was, so they could have come for me if they’d wanted. Obviously, they didn’t. I never spoke to my father again.’

  ‘That’s — terrible.’

  ‘Yes. I visited Mother several times when he wasn’t there, but I was never very close to her, either. I didn’t really get to know her till Father died and she went to live with Sheila and Colin.’

  ‘He was a hard man, your father.’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You don’t have to tell me. Jenny, what did you do on Monday evening?’

  The abrupt change of subject, from the past to the still more traumatic present, took her by surprise and she caught her breath.

  ‘Monday? You mean when Dad — ?’

  ‘Yes. Where were you?’