False Accusations: Nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide... (Willowgrove Village Mystery Book 1)

by Cora Harrison

  And then Flora went on with a few anecdotes, bringing the point back each time to how suggestible Rosie had been and how she believed strange things and claimed responsibility for small crimes which she certainly hadn’t committed, ending up telling them the story of the prank played by his classmates on Benjamin Rice with the tiny pair of football boots, and how Rosie had wept and apologized and said that she had put them in the tumble dryer at a too high heat.’ This was, she thought, one of the most significant anecdotes which could be told of Rosie, demonstrating both her gullibility and her instinct to take responsibility for any crime committed.

  They both laughed at this, Flora was glad to see. She sat back and looked towards the door. Now was the moment to bring the star herself onto the stage, she thought.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Morgan.’ Inspector O’Reilly now took over, doing the gracious bit. He cast a quick look at his colleague, one dark eyebrow lifted interrogatively. ‘Should we see the girl now?’

  Inspector Robinson consulted his watch, ‘Better do,’ he said laconically. ‘The remand court meets at twelve.’

  ‘What!’ Flora’s head spun around. ‘I didn’t know that there was a hearing this morning. What’s going to happen?’

  ‘Well, she just goes before the magistrate to see whether she is to be remanded for the crime of murder.’ Inspector Robinson gave her a hard look. ‘It was either that or another extension and no one could say that the questioning is being very productive at the moment. Will you attend?’

  ‘I shall attend, certainly, but I would have appreciated being given some notice of this.’ With an effort she kept her voice from sounding too tart.

  Inspector O’Reilly looked a little embarrassed. ‘Well, er, we only just found out about it ourselves.’

  ‘Let’s have the girl in then.’ Inspector Robinson pressed the bell. Jim Prior appeared.

  ‘Could you ask P.C. Collins to bring Rosie in, Jim?’

  From the corner of her eye Flora saw Inspector Robinson shoot her a sharp look. ‘Police Cadet Prior is one of my former pupils, also,’ she told him smugly. ‘Oh, and would you check that Mr Bradley, the solicitor, knows about the magistrate’s hearing at 12.00?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said Jim. What a shame he wasn’t in charge of this investigation. He was going to make a good policeman, she thought, feeling proud of him.

  There was a silence after he went; both detectives were casting covert glances at Flora while pretending to study their notes. She wondered whether to bring up the question of bail, but decided that it might be better to leave it for the moment. She would approach it once they had seen Rosie. Hopefully, Rosie would play her part well.

  They were a long time in coming; probably Rosie was putting the last touches to her hair, examining herself carefully in the mirror — that’s if they allowed mirrors in the cells. However, the unmistakeable sound of P.C. Collins’ tramp and Rosie’s lighter footsteps came eventually.

  As soon as the door was thrown open by the policewoman, Rosie advanced timidly into the room, saw her former headmistress and with a pretty cry of joy, came across holding out her arms.

  ‘Mrs Morgan, you’re here!’ she said, just like a young child.

  Rosie was looking lovely — the dress was sophisticated, but it fitted her so well and she wore it with such unconscious grace that Flora thought of Yeats’ poem The Faerie Child.

  ‘Rosie, these two gentlemen would like to talk to you, to ask you some questions,’ she said gently.

  ‘Sit down, Miss Trevor.’ Inspector O’Reilly helped her into the chair in front of the desk with the air of one seating a princess. Rosie gave him a shy smile.

  ‘I say, I do like your dress!’ he said in a spontaneous fashion.

  Inspector Robinson had taken out his notebook; obviously Inspector O’Reilly was going to conduct the interview.

  ‘Granny gave it to me.’ Rosie’s red lips parted, showing her lovely teeth.

  ‘Did your mum buy you dresses?’ enquired the inspector in a kindly and casual tone.

  Rosie nodded. ‘She bought my pink one,’ she confided. ‘Would you like to see that one?’

  ‘Not today,’ he said gently, but firmly. Flora glanced at his left hand. Yes, he had a wedding ring. He was about thirty to thirty-five, she thought, just about the right age to have a young daughter at home.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about your mum,’ he said, watching her face carefully.

  Flora watched too, with her heart aching and a sick feeling in her stomach. What would Rosie say?

  But, of course, she didn’t say anything. She never liked questions too much, perhaps Mrs Trevor’s early drill with nouns, verbs and adjectives had been too intensive for her and questions worried and alarmed her. She had just the expression that she wore in the lovely photograph of her that appeared on TV. Flora hoped that she wouldn’t ask him where his camera was.

  ‘Tell me about Monday morning,’ he said softly.

  Rosie looked at Flora with alarm. The days of the week meant nothing to her. It was time to intervene.

  ‘Monday was the last day that you were in your house, Rosie,’ Flora said carefully.

  She gave a grateful smile. ‘Oh, I remember,’ she said brightly. ‘The day I found mum.’ And then something came into her mind; it may have been the memory of Jenny’s tears; she was very influenced by Jenny, but her own eyes filled with large tears and she turned to her former teacher as if for comfort.

  ‘Poor mum,’ she said. ‘I’m going to miss her.’

  Flora felt like cheering. Inspector Robinson lifted his head from his notebook and gave Flora a hard look which she returned with a gentle smile. She opened her handbag, took out a tissue and handed it to Rosie.

  ‘Tell me what happened to your mum?’ Inspector O’Reilly was managing this very well; Flora’s respect for his intelligence was growing by the minute.

  ‘Well, I got up in the morning and I had a shower and then I got dressed,’ began the well-rehearsed Rosie. ‘I had something to eat.’

  ‘Your breakfast,’ suggested the inspector.

  Rosie considered this. ‘Could’ve been lunch,’ she said in a matter-of-fact way. Flora felt weak with relief. She crossed her fingers surreptitiously. This was all too good to be true.

  ‘And then?’ he prompted.

  Rosie looked at her. ‘Mrs Morgan knows,’ she said and her cheeks grew pink.

  ‘About the perfume?’ Flora enquired, keeping her tone to that of a kindly headteacher.

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘Just tell the...’ Flora just stopped herself from saying the word ‘policeman’ and amended it quickly, ‘just tell the gentleman, Rosie, it’s OK. He won’t be cross.’

  ‘I took a little of mum’s perfume.’ She looked at him rather coyly and Flora was glad to see that he had looked down at the notes in front of him and missed it. ‘And then I saw mum. I got a fright because I thought she’d gone to work.’

  ‘And where was she?’

  ‘She was lying on the bed and there was a pillow over her face.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I took the pillow off her face and she was dead. She was cold.’

  Flora let out a long breath. This was the first time that Rosie had come out with this detail. Had she remembered it, or had Jenny suggested the word?

  ‘So what did you do then?’

  ‘I called the police, fire and ambulance,’ parroted Rosie, the faithful watcher of NYPD. This was a new addition to the story, but Flora was not ill-pleased. It was rather the sort of thing that a child might say parroting what they had been told by an adult.

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘Then Badger came,’ said Rosie with a sigh of relief that this was such an easy question.

  ‘Badger?’ He aimed his query at Flora and once again she explained about The Wind in the Willows and, somewhat to her embarrassment, Rosie sang the little song that Badger had made up for her.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Insp
ector O’Reilly and then, without drawing breath, he followed the praise with a question, ‘Did you kill your mother, Rosie?’

  Rosie looked confused for a moment; it was always difficult for her to handle two unrelated matters. But then her face cleared; she had remembered Jenny’s words and Rosie always obeyed Jenny.

  ‘I didn’t kill my mum, Sir,’ she said with simple dignity, looking into his eyes. She paused and then added with artistry: ‘I wouldn’t ever do a thing like that.’

  Flora sat back in her chair; the sooner they got to the magistrate’s court, the better, she thought.

  Then Inspector Robinson looked up and put down his pencil. There was a subtle link between the two inspectors; instantly Inspector O’Reilly bowed his head and he, in turn, took up his own pencil. Inspector Robinson got up from his chair, came forward and perched on the edge of his table, leaning over Rosie in a rather menacing manner. She looked up at him apprehensively.

  ‘You were a good girl when you were in Mrs Morgan’s school?’ he began and then when she nodded, he said swiftly, ‘When did you learn to tell lies?’

  ‘Objection!’ Flora snapped out without thinking and then glared at him. To her surprise, he laughed.

  ‘You’ve been watching too many courtroom dramas, Mrs Morgan,’ he said. ‘Now, come on, Rosie, are you telling us a lie? Were you the one that put the pillow over your mother’s face? Perhaps you were just trying to give her a fright, were you? Perhaps you felt angry with her, did you? You didn’t know how easy it is to kill a person, that’s right, isn’t it?’

  Rosie, bewildered, stared at him. One question was hard enough for her to answer; half a dozen was an impossibility. He saw that and immediately simplified matters.

  ‘You killed your mother, that’s right, isn’t it?’

  Rosie began to cry, really cry this time. Big sobs. Flora was rigid with anger. She handed Rosie some more tissues, praying that she wouldn’t answer but she did, of course. This man was angry with her and she had to appease him instantly.

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ she sobbed. And then, echoing his words, ‘I didn’t know that a pillow could kill anyone.’

  ‘OK.’ He nodded to P.C. Collins. ‘You can take her back now.’

  Inspector O’Reilly jumped to his feet and opened the door and Rosie looked up and gave him a watery smile.

  He smiled back warmly and she took courage. ‘I didn’t really kill her, you know,’ she said, touching his sleeve with a simple, child-like gesture. Then she guiltily looked over her shoulder at the other man and hurried ahead of P.C. Collins down the corridor.

  Inspector Robinson gave a sigh and rolled his eyes at the ceiling and Inspector O’Reilly laughed.

  ‘I think that was indefensible,’ Flora said hotly, addressing herself to Inspector Robinson. ‘I hope methods like that won’t be used in court.’

  ‘We have to find the truth, Mrs Morgan. Or at least endeavour to.’

  ‘She seems to contradict herself continually.’ Inspector O’Reilly shook his head with an exasperated expression. Flora, though she was on Rosie’s side, sympathised with his frustration. The girl could be pretty infuriating, but they would have to make an effort to understand her.

  ‘Because she is frightened and because she is unsure of herself and because she lives in another world a lot of the time,’ Flora said impatiently. ‘I can only assure you that she is a gentle child. I’ve seen her in floods of tears over a dead bird.’

  ‘Strange,’ mused Inspector O’Reilly. ‘I’m not sure if I’ve met anyone quite like her before.’ He looked at his watch.

  Flora rose to her feet at this hint. They would have to discuss the matter; she could do no more good. ‘I’ll see you in court, gentlemen,’ she said with an attempt at humour. She paused at the door. ‘There is just one thing before I go; I did mention to Sergeant Dawkins that I am willing to put up bail — as long as it isn’t anything beyond my means — and I’m quite willing to have Rosie in my house if that helps.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Morgan.’ Inspector O’Reilly held the door open for her. Flora hurried out after a quick farewell as she had just glimpsed Jim Prior walking down the corridor.

  He waited for her by the window and they stood there for a minute gazing over the busy streets of Brocklehurst.

  ‘Mr Bradley has been told of the magistrate’s hearing, Mrs Morgan,’ he said in a low voice with a quick glance down the corridor to his superior’s door. ‘I spoke to him myself. He asked to speak to you. I told him that you were with the two inspectors. I’d say that he’d like you to pop into his office.’

  ‘Jim, what do you think of Rosie’s prospects?’ Flora asked quietly. ‘Do you think they will remand her?’

  ‘There are lots of other things going on,’ he said in a low voice. He cast another quick glance around, moving a little nearer, before saying very quietly, ‘The trouble with Rosie is that she’s her own worst enemy. If only we could give her a truth drug, or something like that.’

  ‘You don’t believe that she murdered her mother do you, Jim?’ Flora kept her voice as hushed as his was and watched him shake his head vigorously.

  ‘Nah, not Rosie; I’d believe it of anyone else before I’d believe it of her.’

  Chapter 26

  Rosie was still looking beautiful in her elegant blue dress when she was brought into court. Her blonde hair shone like silk; she had probably passed the time in brushing it. She had always loved brushing her hair. It seemed to soothe her when she felt puzzled or worried. When she came nearer, though, Flora could see that her face was very pale, her blue eyes blank. When life bewildered her, she retreated into some world of her own. All of her teachers knew that blank look. She would say little or nothing when she was in this mood. Flora shifted uneasily in her seat, conscious of a desire to go to Rosie, to pat her on the shoulder, to reassure her, to tell her that everything was all right.

  Inspector O’Reilly was the one chosen to explain the case to the magistrates and he did it with an economy of words and clearness of detail that made her look at him with a nod of approbation.

  ‘Rosie Trevor has confessed to the murder of her mother on ten different occasions, though she has withdrawn her confession on eight other occasions,’ he concluded. ‘We ask that she be remanded while we continue our enquiries.’

  ‘Mr Bradley?’ The middle-aged magistrate in the centre of the row of three, looked across at the solicitor. She had a sensible face with alert eyes and Flora hoped for the best.

  ‘We’d like to ask for bail, Your Honour. Mrs Morgan, a retired headteacher, who has had Rosie in her school as a pupil from the age of five to the age of twelve, is quite willing to put up bail and to take her into her own house and have her under her supervision.’

  The magistrate nodded at Flora. She looked hard at Rosie, conferred quietly with her two colleagues and then turned back to Inspector O’Reilly.

  ‘Would the police have any objection to bail?’

  ‘No, but we would like the psychological and psychiatric examinations to take place first. They are both scheduled for tomorrow. I would suggest that if both psychologist and psychiatrist are in agreement that this can be done safely then we go ahead with the bail arrangements on Wednesday: if not we come back to you. Would that suit?’

  ‘Mr Bradley?’

  ‘We’d agree to that,’ he replied, after a brief whisper in Flora’s ear.

  Rosie stared straight ahead, lost in a different world.

  ‘Where’s your car parked?’ asked Ted when they came out of the court together.

  ‘I thought of doing some shopping before going home.’ Flora didn’t want any more fussing about the burst tyre. It was something that she would have to think about very seriously, but would wait until she got home and had a cup of coffee before doing so. ‘Thanks Ted, you’ll be in touch if you hear anything else, won’t you?’ she added, holding out her hand to him.

  ‘Goodbye, Flora.’ He held her hand for a long minute, almost as
if he didn’t know what to do with it. He was probably lonely after his wife’s death, she thought. But I can’t keep on having little lunches and elevenses with him. He would just have to get back to work and make the best of things. She gave him a smile, though, before she turned to go into Marks & Spencer’s: I’m getting quite fond of him, she thought.

  By a piece of luck, it was young Ian Madden who answered the phone when Flora rang Willowgrove Taxis.

  ‘Oh, Ian,’ Flora said, just stopping herself from calling him by the nickname that the whole village knew him by, ‘it’s Mrs Morgan here. Would you be able to come and fetch me from Brocklehurst? I can meet you outside Marks & Spencer’s if that’s convenient for you.’

  ‘Be there in twenty minutes,’ said Ian, a shy boy who seldom spoke an unnecessary word.

  He was as good as his word, sliding through a hole in the traffic and pulling the car into the pavement just beside her.

  ‘Thanks, Ian.’ Flora got into the front seat. She wanted to talk to him and didn’t fancy aiming questions at the back of his head. She made a few remarks about the weather as they inched their way from traffic light to traffic light and he nodded and smiled his sweet smile.

  ‘Looks like rain later.’ Flora tried to sound knowledgeable and he nodded and agreed with her. Five minutes earlier he had agreed that it looked as if we were going to go on and on with these hot days and sultry nights. He hadn’t changed. He was still the same gullible boy as he had been at primary school.

  They don’t change; Flora told herself: the mask gets pulled down more firmly in the case of some, but underneath, the characters that they had at eleven they retain for their life span.

  ‘What a gorgeous dog!’ she exclaimed. They were out on the main road now, quite near to the place where her tyre had blown apart. Flora didn’t like looking at that colourful line of bollards so turned her head towards the other side and focussed on a magnificent longhaired German Shepherd who was sitting majestically on the far side of a ten foot fence which screened off the bungalows that were scattered at a comfortable distance back from the side of the road.