by Rebecca Tope
It seemed reasonable to assume that Belinda would be the one to inform her mother and brother as to what had happened. After all, she had gone to the trouble of phoning the house-sitter only a couple of hours after the discovery of the body, sounding to be in full control of herself. So Thea could be excused from any such task. It definitely wasn’t down to her, she decided.
The evening was much brighter than the day had been, with the low sun illuminating the garden beautifully. As usual, Thea threw open the front door, wanting to catch the light and air and bring them into the house. Along with them, however, came loud thumping music, which was far less desirable. Blake-next-door must have turned his sound system up to the maximum, something that came as an unwelcome surprise. He surely must know that it would spread across the shared garden and into Hyacinth House. Had he always done it, with Yvonne’s blessing? Or was he making some peculiar point, aimed at Thea herself? There was something aggressive, almost malign, in the discordant bass notes and the harsh yowling vocals that accompanied it. It made her think of the awful things men could do if they were somehow turned away from goodness and decency. It conjured words like hate and assault. She most definitely did not like it.
But was she justified in going over and complaining about it? It was still daylight, so she couldn’t possibly claim that it was disturbing her sleep. She couldn’t even pretend to be trying to concentrate on anything important. And yet it was an intrusion, a nagging reminder that he was there and that she could not trust him. She should close her door, and perhaps even lock it, because Blake Grossman might be a murderer. But then, anybody out there might be a murderer. Somebody had killed Stevie, that much was certain. Just as they’d killed Victor Parker – although that was in London, which could be viewed as a very different country.
She did go to close the door, but met a willowy figure on the threshhold. ‘How can you bear it?’ Janice demanded angrily. ‘We can hear it right across the road. Come with me, and we’ll make him turn it off.’ Hepzie approached and did her usual annoying scrabble at Janice’s lower legs. ‘Your dog’s all right, I see. I didn’t come over yesterday. You were back by four.’
‘Yes.’
‘So – come on. Let’s do it.’ She took a step towards Blake’s house, but stopped when Thea held her ground.
‘Oh … I don’t know. It’s not late, is it? I think he’ll turn it down before long.’
Janice looked at her sceptically. ‘You don’t know him,’ she said.
‘That’s true. Even so – why don’t you come into the kitchen and have a drink, or something? If we shut the door, we’ll scarcely be able to hear it.’
‘Wimp,’ Janice accused, with a mitigating smile. ‘You’re scared of making a fuss.’
‘There’s been more than enough fuss over the past few days already,’ said Thea feelingly. ‘I’m not keen to make even more trouble.’
‘Isn’t it all pretty well resolved now? It said on the news that Gudrun was under arrest. They showed a whole lot of stuff about her swimming career, and hinted that she had a doubtful reputation locally. I imagine you’ve seen it?’
‘No, I couldn’t bear to. Did they interview anybody from the village? There’s usually some old codger who says they’d always suspected something sinister.’
‘Actually no. Not a one. We’re not like that in Snowshill.’
‘When the media realise the link with Victor, they’ll be trying all over again, I suppose.’ She spoke absently, almost to herself, shuddering at the prospect of more reporters and cameras trying to formulate a story ahead of the police investigation. It took a moment to notice Janice’s reaction.
‘Victor? Victor Parker? What link do you mean?’
‘Oh, damn. I’m probably not supposed to say anything. As usual.’
‘What? You’ve got to tell me.’
‘You knew him, then.’
‘We were neighbours for twenty years, for God’s sake. Of course I knew him.’ Janice checked herself. ‘Knew? Why the past tense?’
‘He’s dead,’ said Thea, not especially gently. ‘Somebody killed him on Monday. They’ve only just found the body.’
Janice folded up like a collapsed string puppet, landing on a kitchen chair by sheer good fortune. ‘Jesus!’ she gasped. ‘That’s incredible.’ She wiped a large hand across her lower face, rubbing at her mouth. ‘It must have been Gudrun, thinking he’d killed their kid.’
‘So Stevie really was Victor’s?’ A thread of excitement quivered inside her. Was everything to be suddenly explained by this woman?
Janice nodded. ‘I think Yvonne must have found out, which explains why she forced him to leave.’
Thea considered this for some moments. ‘That would be unbearable – for her and for Gudrun. Wouldn’t it? How could they go on living so close together?’ She remembered Belinda’s disclosure. ‘I don’t think Yvonne could possibly have known. Did she ever say anything to you about why they separated?’
Janice shook her head. ‘I just had to guess, the same as everybody else. I only know it was very sudden.’
‘So Victor kept the secret as well. Wasn’t that rather noble of him?’
Janice pulled a face. ‘Selfish, more like. Worried about his image. “Deny everything” is Victor’s motto.’
Again, Thea rummaged through her memory, grasping at snippets of conversation that might be assembled and formed into a coherent picture. ‘Hmm …?’ she said.
Janice’s eyes had somehow elongated, her skin turned grey. ‘Dead,’ she muttered. ‘After all this time spent hating him. I almost feel as if I’d done it myself.’
For a moment, Thea almost thought the same thing. ‘I went to his flat yesterday,’ she said. ‘That’s where I was going.’
‘But you didn’t find him? You said that was today, didn’t you? Finding his body, I mean.’
‘Right. Belinda.’
Janice inhaled deeply and gripped her big bony hands together. When she spoke, it was with her gaze focused intently on the tabletop. ‘He never acknowledged her, not for a second. Just acted as if nothing had happened. He was such a swine!’ She looked up at Thea, who was standing close beside her. ‘A villain. That’s what I called him to myself. Victor the Villain.’
‘He was Ruby’s father?’ Thea hazarded. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’ She hardly needed the slow nod the woman gave in reply. ‘And he lived here, right across the road? How was that possible? Didn’t Yvonne know? Didn’t Ruby know?’
‘It isn’t so unusual. The trick is never to let anybody guess the truth. So you tell some convincing lies. Luckily, I was away a lot at the time, so it was easy to invent a fling with a married businessman in a conference hotel. Happens all the time.’
‘Were you living on your own in that big house? How old were you? Under thirty, anyway.’
‘Not on my own. My father was still alive. It was his house. He only died last year. Dear old Daddy.’ She went misty. ‘He was terribly good with Ruby. I was sorry to lie to him, but it was for the best. Hell’s teeth – fancy bloody Victor being dead. I still can’t believe it.’
‘So – you knew about Stevie, but Gudrun didn’t know about Ruby? That they were brother and sister?’
Janice shook her head. ‘I didn’t know about Stevie. I just guessed. The kid had a look of him. Something about his feet, as well. The toes turned out. Not the kind of thing most people notice.’
‘Were there any more, do you think?’ Thea asked recklessly. ‘Is the village full of little Victors? And I still don’t understand why it had to be such a secret.’
Janice squared her shoulders. ‘I’m not aware of any more,’ she said with dignity. ‘The secret was because of Belinda and Mark, primarily. They were both adopted, you see, because Yvonne was sterile. I couldn’t do anything to harm them. Besides, I had my pride,’ she added.
‘Then you think Yvonne found out about Stevie and threw Victor out.’
‘That’s what I imagined must have happened, yes. But you�
��ve made me wonder, now. It was all very sudden and shocking. One moment they were the ideal couple, the next he was driving off with two suitcases and never came back.’
‘Didn’t Yvonne ever tell anybody what had happened?’
‘Not to my knowledge. She dropped some hints about deviant behaviour. One or two people thought she’d found kiddie porn on his computer. She’s a teacher – she can’t afford to have anything to do with that stuff. But I thought that was just a cover story. It didn’t fit with Victor’s character. He wouldn’t find much joy in cyberbabes, or whatever they call them. He likes the real thing too much.’
‘Wouldn’t she have confronted Gudrun if she’d found out about Stevie? She doesn’t strike me as a very subtle person.’
Janice grinned cynically. ‘No, she’s not. And I must admit I have never heard a single soul even hint that Stevie was Victor’s, any more than they did about Ruby. You know – you’re the first person I have ever told, in all these years. It’s like cracking open a dead shellfish, and letting the rotten stink come out. It’s because he’s dead, I suppose. The shock has loosened my tongue.’
‘Will you tell Ruby now?’
‘Oh no. God, no. Nothing’s changed, has it? Except I can sleep easier now, knowing he won’t ever show up and give away the secret. I’ve dreaded that ever since she was born.’
‘He must have been a very peculiar man.’
‘Do you think so?’ She pondered briefly. ‘No, he wasn’t. Just following his primitive urges – sex and money were what drove him. Yvonne had inherited a fair bit from her grandmother when they first married, and he used it to set up his business. He was always very sleek and self-satisfied.’
‘Belinda doesn’t know exactly why Yvonne threw him out, either,’ Thea remembered. ‘She guessed it was something sordid like telephone sex. Which fits with the hints you heard.’ The small consistency was somehow consoling.
‘Right.’
Thea couldn’t drop it. There was an important point to be established. ‘But you’ve always assumed they broke up because of the affair with Gudrun? When did you find out about that for sure?’
The tall woman stood up abruptly. ‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘I was never sure. It just slowly dawned on me that it was the obvious explanation. It was the feet, I suppose. I hated that kid,’ she finished with a flash of ferocity.
‘Did you kill him?’ Thea looked at the big hands, the sturdy arms. ‘I could understand how you might.’
‘No, I didn’t. But I wouldn’t blame anybody for doing it. Not even his mother.’ She cocked her head. ‘The music’s stopped,’ she said. ‘I’d better go.’
Thea almost grabbed Janice’s arm. ‘Must you? It seems—’ After such intimate revelations, it felt almost violent for the woman to leave so suddenly.
‘I must. It’s nearly supper time. Ruby will be wondering where I am.’
Did neither of these women go out to work, Thea wondered belatedly? Or were they running some sort of creative industry in their handsome house? It seemed only too likely that she would never know now. There was a strong sense that Janice was never going to want to see her again.
Yet again, the TV offerings for the evening seemed nothing more than a criminal waste of time. Life was worth more than that, she had realised, when her husband had been killed in his thirties. She owed it to him, if not to herself, to make good use of every passing hour – and watching unfunny comedians or superficial historical reconstructions did not qualify. She could instead make notes about the two murders, at the very least. She could go and have another look at the cows in the field behind the house. She could, came one final daring thought, have another look at those diaries of Yvonne’s.
But before she could open the bureau drawer, somebody was knocking tentatively on the firmly closed front door, so quietly that she would never have heard it if she hadn’t already been in the hall. She went and opened it, feeling more nervous than if there had been thunderous banging.
A young woman stood there, as exotically un-European as Belinda Parker had been earlier that day. But this one was darker skinned and rounder eyed. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘You are Yvonne Parker?’
‘No, no. I’m her house-sitter. She’s in France.’
‘Ah. I suppose she knows that her husband is dead?’ Tears filled the brown eyes.
‘I’m not sure.’ Thea frowned warily. ‘Who are you?’
The answer came obliquely. ‘I was present when he was killed, with a knife. I ran away.’ Her accent was musical, with American overtones, the English words obviously coming easily to her. ‘I thought I would be killed too, so I ran away.’
Thea had to think for several heartbeats. This was a dramatic turn of events, a totally unexpected development. Distress, danger … yes, and a very disturbing set of implications. She stared hard at the beautiful little face. ‘But why come here? Why didn’t you go to the police when it happened? Who are you?’ But she already thought she knew who this must be. The Filipina girlfriend.
‘I came because I have to understand what it was about. Why is poor Victor dead, when he was such a kind sweet man?’
‘Was he?’ Thea glanced at her mental image of the Parker patriarch as a selfish, slightly intimidating man, with unwholesome proclivities when it came to choosing female company.
More tears filled the doe-like eyes. ‘How will I ever manage without him? I have no visa, no money, nobody to be with. Victor organised it all, he paid my fare. He said he would marry me, and I could stay here for ever.’
‘How did you know this address? How did you find this house?’
‘I went back later, and took this.’ She held up a bulging Filofax, which struck Thea as rather old-fashioned. ‘It was in his briefcase. It says “Yvonne. Hyacinth House, Snowshill, Gloucestershire”. I found it on the computer, quite easily. There is a train to Moreton-in-Marsh and then a bus.’
‘You amaze me.’ The girl had even pronounced ‘Gloucestershire’ almost correctly. Still Thea did not usher the grief-stricken creature into the house. This was, after all, an illegal immigrant, an e-bride of some description. And an ear witness at least to the killing of Victor Parker – as Thea herself was, she remembered. ‘I heard it,’ she said impulsively. ‘He was talking to me on the phone.’
The eyes widened as this information was processed. ‘I came home with the food,’ she began slowly. ‘He was speaking on his mobile. I went into the kitchen with the bags, then I went to the bathroom and closed the door. He was still speaking. I heard nothing. I was there for … two, three minutes. Perhaps less. I came out and he was on the floor, blood like a fountain from his chest. He was wearing no clothes.’
‘No clothes?’
The girl flushed. ‘He liked air on his skin. It was a warm night.’
‘You must have heard something. I did.’ She cast her mind back to the truncated conversation. What had she really heard, before the screams began? Little more than doors opening and closing, and Victor saying, ‘Hi, Babe,’ before giving a choked cry that might well not have been very loud.
The Filipina simply shook her head.
‘How could the attacker get in? Wasn’t the door locked?’
‘I left the key in the lock. My hands were full of the bags. I intended to go back for it.’
‘I heard the buzzer,’ Thea remembered. ‘Why would the killer press the buzzer, and then just walk right in, anyway?’
The girl had no explanation, but simply shrugged.
Both women were aware that the details of the doors mattered scarcely at all. Thea, however, could not abort her obsessive need to visualise the whole episode. ‘You must have been followed,’ she said. ‘The timing is too coincidental otherwise.’
‘I stayed out on Sunday, when Mrs Parker visited. Victor said it would be best.’
‘So you never saw her? And she didn’t know about you?’
‘I know Belinda and Mark,’ said the girl defensively. ‘Victor said
Vonny should be kept in the dark, for her own good.’
‘Was it a man or a woman who stabbed him?’ she asked swiftly, hoping to catch the girl unawares.
‘How can I know? I think a man. A woman – how could a woman do such a thing?’ She wept unrestrainedly, her mouth a childlike arch of misery.
Thea was too caught up with the mystery of it all to feel much sympathy. There was still a chance that this was a murderer standing before her. ‘Where did you go on Sunday?’
‘To my friend in Tufnell Park. She is a nanny with her own flat.’
‘Were you a nanny? Before you met Victor?’
‘Oh no. A nanny has a visa, a permit to stay here. I am merely a visitor. Three months.’ She grimaced miserably. ‘Now I have been here eight months.’
‘You’re in trouble,’ said Thea flatly. ‘Particularly as you failed to call the police to a dying man. Did you run away leaving him to bleed to death? Don’t you think you might have saved his life if you hadn’t been such a coward?’
‘No, no. Of course I didn’t do that. He was dead in seconds. I could not stay – what good would that do?’
‘It was two days before he was found. Belinda went there today. How do you think she felt, walking in on her dead father? Probably covered in flies by this time.’
‘I put a blanket over him. I am sorry, but it was not my fault at all. I was afraid.’
‘But you took the time to pack a bag and take his Filofax.’
The small chin lifted. ‘The bag was packed already. We were going away for a little holiday. I went outside, for a moment, and then turned back for the things.’
‘You could have killed him yourself,’ Thea said carefully. ‘Did you think the police would come to that conclusion?’
‘Perhaps, yes. I felt I should find his wife and tell her he did not suffer, that he was a good man, very kind. I felt we should be together in our mourning.’
Thea found this sentiment hard to swallow. ‘I’m not sure you’re right about that. Victor was probably very sensible in keeping you apart. I think it’s more likely that you thought you could somehow blackmail her into helping you.’
