David Webb 10 - Three, Three, the Rivals

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Hello, Mrs Makepeace, it’s David Webb again.’

  She peered at him with her milky eyes. ‘Have you found out who killed Billy?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Jenny told you about those phone-calls?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. We’re working on them.’ He paused. ‘I suppose you’ve heard about Dick Vernon?’

  She sighed. ‘Yes, that’s a bad business.’

  ‘Do you remember anything about the time he disappeared?’

  ‘Only coppers coming round asking if we’d seen him.’

  ‘But I don’t suppose you had?’

  ‘No. We didn’t even go to Joan’s funeral. We wouldn’t have been welcome.’

  Webb framed his words carefully, aware of Jenny’s hostile attention. ‘Did your husband have any theories on what might have happened?’

  ‘We talked about it, of course. Some folks thought he’d lost his memory, what with the shock of it all, and wandered off, not knowing who he was.’

  ‘Did your husband go along with that?’

  Mrs Makepeace shrugged. ‘He’d nothing better to suggest.’

  ‘He never mentioned any talk he’d overheard which might have thrown a different light on it? Gossip at the Farmers’ Club or the church?’

  ‘Not that I recall.’

  Webb swivelled in his chair to look up at Jenny, who, he guessed, had deliberately remained standing in order to make him uncomfortable.

  ‘How much do you remember, Mrs Hawthorn?’

  ‘The same as you, I should think. Being told at school to be nice to the Vernon boys and not to mention their father. But we never spoke to them anyway, did we? We weren’t allowed to, any more than we could talk to each other.’

  The old woman shook her head sadly and Jenny added reflectively, ‘We played games all that term, about people disappearing and the things that might happen to them.’

  Her words brought back that long-ago summer and the similar games he and his friends had played. But of all the wild possibilities they’d dreamed up — including kidnap by spacemen or Russian spies — they’d not thought of burial in someone else’s grave.

  Mrs Makepeace said suddenly, ‘When can we have Billy back? It’s only right he should be decently buried.’

  ‘Just as soon as the Coroner releases him, Mrs Makepeace.’ Which, Webb thought darkly, depended on how the investigation went.

  He’d not expected to learn anything about Dick Vernon in this household; if Makepeace had killed him, he wouldn’t have come home and told his family. Still, it had had to be checked. Stifling a sigh, he stood up, replaced the upright chair against the wall and, nodding to Jackson, took his leave.

  *

  Sheila stood behind the counter in the gift shop, watching the crowds moving about outside the window. It had been a fairly busy afternoon, but now only one woman was left in here, hesitating by the flower-arranging stand. Sheila wished she’d make up her mind and go. It was nearly closing time, for which she was profoundly grateful. All afternoon she’d been on edge, furtively watching people to see if they were watching her. Suppose Mr Makepeace’s killer was mingling with those aimless crowds? Or was he — or she — someone she knew?

  The customer approached at last and, smiling fixedly, Sheila took from her the heavy oblong pinholder and the block of oasis, clocked up the prices and handed over the change. Dropping the purchases into a bag, she passed it across and, as the woman left, followed her to the door. Across the way, Stephen was locking up the garden furniture showroom. He waved to her through the glass and she raised a hand in reply as she started to close the door.

  ‘Sheila!’

  She jumped, heart accelerating, and turned to see David walking quickly towards her. He smiled. ‘I thought I was going to be locked out! Colin told me you were here.’

  ‘Come in quickly, then, I don’t want any more customers.’

  He followed her into the building and she locked the door behind him. She felt safer with David, able to relax for the first time since lunch. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Put me up again tonight, if you would. Mrs Wainwright’s being reinterred at nine in the morning. At least I won’t have to creep out at four this time!’

  ‘No problem. Your bed’s still made up.’

  ‘I’ve also a few more questions, I’m afraid. Are you coming back to the house?’

  ‘Not until I’ve checked the till. But we can talk here if you like. At least it’s private.’

  ‘OK.’ He perched on the counter. ‘I’m sorry to keep harping on the day Dick disappeared but, as you’ll appreciate, it’s even more important now.’

  ‘I’ve told you all I can remember.’

  ‘There are one or two points I’m not clear on. You say you had a picnic tea that day. Who was there?’

  ‘Just a few kids from the playgroup — and Mum, of course.’

  ‘No other adults?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What time did you get home?’

  ‘About six, I suppose. Not long before my bedtime.’

  ‘Was Father in?’

  ‘He was working in the garden. I ran out to tell him about the picnic.’

  Webb was silent, envying his sister her happy relationship with their father which had been denied to himself. Briefly he was tempted to tell her what he’d seen in the barn that night, but he resisted. No point in worrying her at this stage. He said merely, ‘He went out later, though, didn’t he?’

  ‘Did he? I don’t remember. He might have gone bowling.’

  ‘I remember when I crept out myself, Mother was in the kitchen with the girl next door. What was her name?’

  ‘Mavis. Yes, I remember now. She brought my present round and we gave her some birthday cake.’

  ‘Had she come to babysit, do you think? If Mother was going to meet Dick, she wouldn’t have left us alone.’

  Sheila said slowly, ‘I never thought of that. I wonder if she’ll remember, after all this time.’

  Webb looked at her in surprise. ‘You’re still in touch with her?’

  ‘Oh yes. Well, I don’t see much of her, but she used to babysit for us when the children were younger. She was always mad on babies, it was too bad she never had any of her own. She married a widower twenty years older, but it seemed to work out.’

  Webb fished in his pocket for his notebook. ‘Could you give me her married name and phone number?’

  Sheila did so. ‘You think she might help?’

  ‘Goodness knows, but it’s worth a try.’

  She nodded. ‘Well, if that’s all, I’d better add up our takings. Go back to the house, David, and Colin’ll give you a drink. I shan’t be long.’

  *

  Colin, pouring the drinks with his back to Webb, said evenly, ‘Yes, as it happens I do remember that day. I was quite friendly with the Vernons then, before I inherited Sheila’s taboo. Their mother rang mine and asked if they could come to tea after school. Apparently Dick was distraught and she thought it best to keep the boys out of his way.’

  Webb stared at his back. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say so before?’

  ‘Because it hasn’t the slightest bearing on anything.’

  ‘That’s for me to decide,’ Webb said stiffly.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry.’ Colin turned and came over with the glasses, not meeting his eyes. ‘Quite honestly, I’ve always resented this feud nonsense. It was nothing to do with me, but I feel embarrassed even mentioning the Vernons or the Makepeaces to you and Sheila.’

  Webb studied him as he seated himself in his armchair and crossed his legs. Colin Fairchild, the solicitor’s son, whom he had known most of his life. But not very well, he now realized. Colin’s tanned face was slightly flushed and his mouth set. Webb had always thought him pleasant and easygoing, but this was the man who had defied his father and given up university to open a garden centre. He was a more determined character than his brother-in-law had given him credit for. In the still youthful-loo
king man, Webb could see the curly-haired boy who had played cricket for Greystones’ first eleven, been school captain, achieved high examination results. Did he ever regret missed opportunities, wish he had after all followed his father into the law firm?

  Webb sipped his drink. ‘And did the boys say anything the next day?’

  Colin looked up, seeming grateful that the status quo had been restored. ‘Only that their father had gone away for a few days, which was what their mother had told them.’

  ‘Did they ever mention his going out that evening?’

  ‘Not in my hearing. In fact, I never heard them speak of him again. I think they thought he’d deserted them.’ Colin swirled his drink reflectively. ‘I remember Dick Vernon, too. He used to play cricket with us in the garden. I liked him.’

  ‘Did you also like Billy Makepeace?’ Webb asked evenly.

  Colin said quickly, ‘Look, I’m not—’

  Webb lifted a hand. ‘Seriously, I want to know. Did you?’

  ‘He was all right.’

  ‘You didn’t speak to him when he phoned Sheila?’

  ‘No, I was—’ Colin broke off, and the flush which had faded from his face returned. ‘Lyn took the call,’ he ended lamely.

  ‘You were out?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I was, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Where?’

  The flush deepened, but Webb waited impassively. Incredible that somehow, despite the intensive questioning, he’d not established where Colin had been that evening.

  ‘There was an Old Boys’ Dinner at Greystones.’

  ‘A late do, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes; Sheila was in bed when I got back.’

  Webb looked at him curiously. For some reason, Colin was acutely uncomfortable. He wondered why.

  ‘You’ve kept in touch with the school, then. I must confess I’ve never gone to any of the Grammar School shindigs.’

  Colin made no comment, keeping his eyes on his drink. It would do no harm, Webb reflected, to check that his brother-in-law had attended the Dinner. God, if this case wasn’t wrapped up quickly he’d have alienated his entire family.

  He finished his drink and stood up. ‘I think if you’ll excuse me I’ll go and have a quick sluice. I’ve spent far too much time in the sun today and my clothes are sticking to me.’

  Colin nodded, looking broodingly after him as he left the room. That was a bloody stupid thing to say, he realized. David was nothing if not thorough, and a quick call to the school would soon reveal he hadn’t been at the Dinner. Not, to be pedantic, that he’d actually said he had.

  He got up abruptly and went to refill his glass. It was the question about taking the phone-call that had thrown him; on David’s first visit, he’d been ready with a plausible story if asked to account for his movements. To his surprised relief he had not been, and he’d foolishly thought the danger past.

  What damnable timing it had been! he thought with a rush of fury, splashing soda into his glass. That night of all nights! He thought of Billy Makepeace, who had had no right to be where he was, of his initial surprise and then the slow, knowing smile that spread over his face.

  Hardly knowing what he was doing, Colin tossed the whisky back in one gulp and stood with his head flung back, gazing up at the ceiling. Then, hearing his wife’s voice in the hall, he slowly straightened and went to meet her.

  *

  There was quite a group at the graveside the next morning when Webb arrived with DC Charlton. In addition to Sam Wainwright and his wife, the family was represented by Mrs Vernon and her two sons and daughters-in-law.

  Webb studied the younger women with interest; the one standing by Larry he did not know, but the other seemed familiar. He’d seen her somewhere, he was sure of it. There was no mistaking those green eyes and the heavy red-gold hair. Then, all at once, he remembered. Rona Seton, she’d been, and her arrival in town at the age of sixteen had caused a stir among the lads. So she’d married Tom Vernon. Well, well.

  Becoming aware of his glance, the woman looked across, meeting his eye and then quickly dropping her own as a faint flush touched her lace. Webb was intrigued. A poised and confident woman in her forties, she must be used to men’s attention. So what, he wondered, had caused her embarrassment? Surely nothing as banal as the family feud?

  The brief graveside service began. The family throughout was solemn but composed — this was no new grief. Surprisingly, the only tears Webb saw were in the eyes of the second Mrs Wainwright as the shining new coffin was lowered into the cavity in which its occupant had, with her twin brother, spent the last forty years. She would not be disturbed again.

  Old Sam bent stiffly to pick up a handful of earth and throw it into the grave, where it rattled on the wooden lid, an accompaniment to the vicar’s rhythmic words. Then, with his wife holding tightly to his arm, he turned away, glancing briefly at the two wreaths which lay on the grass.

  Webb intercepted the Vernon brothers as they started to follow him. ‘You’ll appreciate, gentlemen, that I’ll need to see you again in the light of your father’s death. Would this evening be convenient? At home, perhaps?’ He’d like a word with the wives, too, he thought, registering the startled jerk of Rona’s head, as if she devined his purpose.

  ‘If you must, you must,’ her husband said ungraciously. ‘You and Frances come too, Larry, so we can get it all over at once.’

  ‘Six o’clock?’ Webb suggested. After which, he could go home. He didn’t want another evening with his family.

  ‘Very well, we’ll be waiting. Now, if you’ll excuse us—’

  And, taking his wife’s arm, Vernon followed the rest of the mourners out of the cemetery.

  CHAPTER 11

  After leaving the cemetery, Webb returned with DI Charlton to Silver Street, where he’d arranged to pick up Jackson.

  ‘There are a couple of things I want to do on the Makepeace case, Ken. Then I propose to shelve it for the rest of the day and concentrate on Dick Vernon. It could well be, anyway, that approaching from a different angle will lead us to Makepeace’s killer. So first we’ll go to see the solicitor who found him, then I’d like you to phone Greystones College and check whether Mr Colin Fairchild attended their Old Boys’ Dinner on Monday last week.’

  Jackson shot him a startled glance. That would be the Governor’s brother-in-law, surely? No wonder he hadn’t wanted to get involved in this case. Feeling a verbal reply might be imprudent, he merely nodded and adjusted his step to his superior’s long stride as they set off for the High Street.

  Martin Allerdyce, junior partner in the law firm of Henshaw & Allerdyce, was a pleasant-faced man in his late thirties with thinning fair hair and horn-rimmed spectacles. He nodded to Jackson, whom he’d met before, and shook Webb’s hand.

  ‘I’m afraid, Chief Inspector, I’ve really nothing to add to what I told your sergeant here the other day. It fell to me to find the poor chap, and I just did the necessary, that’s all.’

  ‘All the same, I’d be glad of a more detailed account, sir. For instance, how did you come to see him? Did you recognize him at once? Try to pull him out of the water?’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, I was walking along the towpath on my way to work and as I reached the railway bridge I heard a train coming. It makes one hell of a din if you’re underneath the bridge when it goes over, so I paused to wait for it to pass, and happened to glance down at the canal. I saw him at once and it was a shock, I can tell you — the calm, shining water, the flowers on the bank, and then, suddenly, this floating bundle of clothes. Because of course I knew it was more than clothes.

  ‘I bent down and pulled the body closer in to the bank, and to answer your question, no, at that stage I didn’t recognize him — he was floating face down. I struggled to turn him over, chiefly to get his face out of the water, but it wasn’t easy because his clothes were waterlogged. I did manage to turn him far enough (a) to recognize him and (b) to see he was dead. I went on struggling for a while in case there was a
chance of artificial respiration, but he was too heavy for me. I had my mobile phone, so I rang the police and Dr Adams.’

  ‘And waited till they arrived at the scene?’

  ‘Yes. I made a statement to PC Stebbins, but I’d a nine-thirty appointment so I left straight afterwards.’

  ‘I understand Mr Makepeace was your client, sir.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Had you been acting for him long?’

  ‘The firm has, for many years. I took over when Mr Henshaw senior retired.’

  ‘Mr Makepeace didn’t by any chance leave any sealed packets or envelopes with you, to be opened after his death?’

  The solicitor shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘But you hold a copy of his will, no doubt.’

  The man hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me offhand when it was dated?’

  ‘Thirtieth October, nineteen eighty-six.’

  ‘And have there been any additions or changes since then?’

  The solicitor cleared his throat. ‘There was one recent codicil, yes.’

  ‘Concerning his daughter?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mr Allerdyce,’ Webb said gently, ‘this is a murder case, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It — goes against the grain to discuss clients’ affairs. The codicil concerned Mr Jeremy Croft.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘As it happens,’ the solicitor went on hurriedly, ‘I’m expecting Mrs Hawthorn any minute for a reading of the will. I did offer to go to Longacre so her mother could be present, but the old lady knows the general terms and isn’t interested in details.’

  The codicil could be of supreme importance; primed of it, Webb fully intended to sit in on the reading, but he’d wait till Jenny arrived before broaching the subject.

  He changed his angle, feeling the man’s relief. ‘When did you last see Mr Makepeace, sir? Alive, that is?’

  ‘A month ago. He came in about some property he wanted to sell.’ The intercom on the desk buzzed and Allerdyce lifted the phone and listened to a voice over the wire. ‘Right, thank you. I’ll be out in a moment.’ He looked at Webb. ‘Mrs Hawthorn has arrived, Chief Inspector, so if there’s nothing else?’