Ann Granger

by That Way Murder Lies

  ‘Damn you!’ he snarled at her. His hands were opening and closing involuntarily as if they would have liked to fasten themselves round her slender neck. ‘How many people have you told about it?’

  She shrugged elegantly. ‘Actually, none. It’s not the sort of information one mentions at the dinner table. But once people do know about something like that, they don’t forget. People have long memories for murder, Jeremy.’

  ‘You can’t imagine what it’s like,’ said Toby that evening.

  The three of them were seated round a corner table in the Saddler’s Arms, one of Meredith and Alan’s favourite pubs. It was a tiny place with low beams, which had made no concessions to modern desires for slot machines, wide-screen television or piped music. But the atmosphere was relaxed and the welcome genuine.

  Toby, however, was not relaxed. ‘Do you know the Noel Coward play, Blithe Spirit?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve seen it on television. They showed a wonderful old film of it, only recently. Rex Harrison played the lead and Margaret Rutherford played Madame Arcati, the medium,’ Meredith told him.

  ‘Isn’t that the one where the dead wife comes back to haunt the husband and his new wife?’ Markby said, raising his pint to his lips. ‘I saw it, too. We watched it together at your place.’

  ‘Then you’ll remember,’ Toby went on, ‘that at the very end of it all three of them are dead, the husband and both wives. Rex Harrison’s ghost is sitting on a wall with a ghost wife on either side of him, and he’s stuck with them both bickering over him for eternity. Well, that’s what it’s like at Overvale now. That’s why I had to come out tonight. I had to get away or risk losing my sanity. Jeremy sits there between Alison and Chantal. Chantal hardly speaks to Alison. Jeremy hardly speaks to Chantal. Alison hardly speaks. All three, including Alison when she does speak, speak to me. I have this three-handed conversation going all the time, punctuated by the most awful silences which I feel I’m expected to break. It’s like trying to do a particularly difficult juggling trick. I can’t stand it.’

  ‘Poor Toby,’ said Meredith, trying to hide a smile.

  She wasn’t successful. ‘It isn’t funny!’ he said bitterly.

  ‘I’m not unsympathetic, believe me,’ she assured him. ‘But it has got a funny side.’

  Alan, with the heartfelt tones of a man who had been through divorce, added, ‘You’ve got my sympathy!’

  ‘And on top of it all, Alison got another letter this morning. But you know that,’ Toby said to him.

  ‘Yes, it’s being looked at by forensics. It’s an interesting development.’

  ‘Jeremy thinks it’s from the killer, he’s always thought the writer murdered poor Fiona. Chantal thinks so, too. Do you think that?’ Toby stared hard at Markby.

  Markby, regretting the conversation he’d had with Jess Campbell that afternoon, was tempted to reply sharply but managed to keep his cool.

  ‘Oh, I’m a cautious copper. I keep my thoughts to myself. One thing this new letter does tell us is that the writer hasn’t been put off by the murder. Now, that is interesting. Whether or not he was involved in Fiona’s death, one might have thought that with all the attention being paid to it he would have taken fright and not written again. After all, this is hardly the moment to draw the spotlight on to himself. I am interested in our letter writer. He’s turning out to be a rather curious fellow.’

  Toby was looking at him with doubt written on his face. ‘But your don’t think he killed Fi?’

  ‘I don’t know who killed Fiona Jenner.’ Alan smiled and shook his head. ‘But here we have a man – we’re still assuming it to be a man – who couldn’t resist the opportunity of Fiona’s death to write to Alison again. I will say this to you, because it’s obvious anyway, that putting the body in the water does appear to link the letters and the death. But what is he going to do now, that’s the question.’

  There was a silence while all three of them sipped their drinks and thought over the problem.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Meredith suggested, ‘the fact that he can’t seem to resist the temptation to write again makes him vulnerable. With every letter he writes, he takes a risk.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’ll slip up eventually,’ Markby agreed.

  Toby set his empty glass down with a thump on the table. ‘So what are the police going to do? Sit around until he makes a mistake which leads you to him? Caution is all very well, but he’s laughing at us, all of us! Well, I won’t sit about. I intend to do something about it.’

  Markby looked startled and opened his mouth. Toby held up his hand to forestall him. ‘Don’t panic. I’m not planning to interfere in your murder investigations. I’m just going to do a little research, if you like to call it that.’

  ‘Toby!’ Meredith broke in and kicked his ankle beneath the table.

  ‘Ouch!’ said Toby. ‘Yes, I know, Meredith. The police don’t like independent action by the public. But I’m not proposing to turn myself into a vigilante, am I?’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Markby. ‘I’d have to warn you off formally.’

  ‘Stuff your formal warnings. Sorry, Alan, but I’m thoroughly sick of all of it and having Chantal here has brought things to a head. I’d forgotten what a spectacularly dreadful woman she is. I hadn’t seen her since their divorce, years ago.’

  ‘Did she always have that haircut?’ asked Markby unexpectedly, gaining himself a quizzical look from Meredith.

  ‘Yes, she did,’ Toby told him. ‘She’s an artist, or so she claims. She paints squiggles on large canvases. They’re all called “Untitled”. That’s because she doesn’t know what they are. Look here, Alison is a walking nervous breakdown. It just can’t be left until something turns up. Or what will turn up will be yet another wretched letter and, if that happens, Alison will crack. Believe me, she’s clinging on by her fingernails. She doesn’t need Chantal roaming round the house like a vengeful harpy. She needs the whole business to be sorted so that Chantal can go back to Switzerland and get out of our hair. I particularly need her out of my hair. Jeremy is arguably a cause for my concern, but Chantal definitely is not.’

  ‘She lives in Switzerland now, does she?’ Markby asked.

  He nodded. ‘I gather she lives in a splendid villa on the banks of Lake Geneva with a banker husband and some pedigree dogs of a small and hairy variety. She showed me pictures of them. They looked like those electrically operated shoe brushes you find in hotel corridors. I ought not to be unkind about her. I know she’s lost her only child. But she makes it very difficult for anyone to sympathize with her. I have to say Jeremy doesn’t make it easy. I’ve stood by him and given him all the support I’ve been able to do. I even agreed, stupidly, I admit, to go up to London to Fiona’s flat for him. I made myself look a complete fool in front of that woman inspector of yours. But I did it because Jeremy’s a relative and an old friend. Well, everything has its limits. I’m not getting involved in Jeremy’s marital arrangements, present or past, and certainly not when faced with the present and the past at the same time. Jeremy’s going to have to sweat it out on his own.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Markby said. ‘But what are you proposing to do? Because I do need to know, if for no other reason than so that I can be ready to rescue you if you get into trouble. Not, by the way, that I might always be able to do that. It depends on what kind of trouble you get into!’

  ‘What are you planning, Toby?’ asked Meredith in a practical tone. ‘Are you going back to London to your flat?’

  ‘What would I do there but mooch around, thinking about it all, and remain just as frustrated because I can’t do anything? No, I’m going down to Cornwall.’

  ‘Cornwall?’ exclaimed Meredith and Alan together.

  Toby looked gratified at having elicited this joint response and at the dismay on both his listeners’ faces. ‘Thought you’d like to know,’ he said smugly. ‘Anyone care for another drink?’

  ‘What will you do in Cornwall?’ Alan asked him bluntly.
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  ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll go to this place where Aunt Freda had her cottage— Alison’s given me the address – and ask around. Someone will remember the crime. After all, people don’t move house in rural areas, they stay stuck in the same spot all their lives.’

  ‘Honestly, Toby,’ said Meredith, ‘you have very preconceived ideas about country life. Cornwall is a tourist destination and lots of its old cottages have been bought as holiday homes. People retire down there, just like Aunt Freda did. You’ll probably find that nearly everyone you speak to has only lived there for about ten years and won’t remember a thing about a twenty-five-year-old crime.’

  ‘Hold on, now,’ said Alan. ‘I understand that in her will Freda Kemp left everything including the cottage to Alison. Does Alison still own it?’

  Toby nodded. ‘Yes, she does. She doesn’t use it herself because of the sad associations it has for her now. You can understand that. It would be a bit creepy trying to sunbathe in the garden where old Freda was found head down in the pond. Alison rents it out as a holiday let, just as you were describing, Meredith. But …’ Toby didn’t rub his hands in satisfaction at this point, but looked as though he might. ‘But the people she had let it to for Easter cancelled. It’s empty. I can stay there. I’ve got the key.’

  ‘You seem,’ Alan said sourly, ‘to have the keys to a lot of properties, one way and another.’

  ‘People trust me,’ said Toby serenely. ‘You might not, but others do.’

  ‘We do trust you, Toby,’ Meredith told him. ‘Even Alan, don’t you, Alan?’

  ‘No,’ said Markby. ‘Since I might as well be honest, I don’t know what the heck you’re going to do once you get down to Cornwall, Toby. With respect, Meredith, neither do you!’

  ‘Then I’ll go with him!’ she said promptly.

  This temporarily silenced both men.

  Toby spoke first. ‘Don’t you have to go back to work?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I took the rest of the week off. I was only going to take one day, because Jess Campbell was coming to see me. But then I thought, well, I’ll take the rest of the week, even if it doesn’t make me very popular at the office. I feel I should be around to – to keep an eye on things,’ Meredith concluded somewhat obscurely.

  Toby wasn’t fooled. ‘You mean, to keep an eye on me!’

  ‘To support you, Toby,’ she amended. ‘I felt I should be here for you.’ She looked at Markby. ‘You don’t mind my going down to Cornwall with Toby, do you?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was an obstinate set to Alan’s jaw and a glint in his eye.

  ‘Oh, come on, Alan,’ Meredith reasoned. ‘You want to know what he does down there. I’ll be there and I can tell you.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Toby stiffly. ‘Much as I’d normally appreciate your company, Meredith, I don’t want a police spy following me round.’

  ‘I’m not a police spy, don’t be silly. Two heads are better than one. Sometimes people will talk to a woman rather than to a man, it’s less threatening.’

  ‘Oh, well, in that case, come along’ He brightened. ‘In fact, it’s a good idea because you can drive us in your car. Otherwise, I’ve got to borrow Alison’s car again. I sold my car when I left Beijing and now I haven’t got one. I’m waiting to see where they send me next. Look, Alan, Meredith’s absolutely right. She’ll keep me in order.’ Toby looked hopefully at Markby.

  ‘How long for?’ demanded Markby.

  ‘Three days. We can’t go wrong in three days.’ Toby seemed to feel his optimism might be misplaced. ‘Not very wrong, anyway.’

  ‘Go with him, if you want to,’ Markby said with a sigh. ‘Chauffeur him around while he bothers everyone.’

  ‘Great! I really appreciate this, Alan. I’ll look after her. I’ll get another round of drinks? Same again?’ Toby jumped up and made for the bar.

  Meredith leaned across the table. ‘Alan, please, don’t be difficult. Of course I don’t really want to go with him to Cornwall. But if I don’t, I’ll be worried sick about what he’s doing, and so will you be. At least I’ll be there and I can stop him getting into some silly fix or other. It’s particularly useful that I’ll be his driver because, without me, he can’t go anywhere! I’ll know his every move.’

  ‘I’m less worried about any trouble he may get himself into than I am about his dragging you into danger with him!’ Markby retorted.

  She blinked. ‘You think there might be danger down there in Cornwall?’

  ‘Listen,’ he hissed, as Toby was making his precarious way back towards them with three brimming glasses balanced on a very small tin tray. ‘He is proposing to go down to a quiet neck of the woods and stir up waters which have been lying undisturbed for twenty-five years. Who knows what he might turn up on his fishing expedition? And I know you. Don’t tell me you don’t want to go with him and snoop around.’

  ‘Here we are!’ said Toby cheerfully, putting the tray on the table. ‘That chap Ted is over there at the bar, by the way.’

  ‘Ted Pritchard from Rusticity?’ Startled, Meredith peered across the smoky room and sighed. ‘So he is. What’s he doing here? I thought he drank at the Feathers. Did he recognize you?’

  ‘Oh yes. He was tickled pink. He’d seen all three of us sitting here drinking together.’

  At that moment, Ted, at the bar, caught Meredith’s eye, winked and raised his glass to her in salute.

  ‘Oh, wonderful,’ she said. ‘Now he thinks we all live in a ménage à trois.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think it myself,’ said Markby gloomily. ‘I really do understand how Jeremy Jenner feels.’

  ‘Let’s hope Ted doesn’t find out about Merry and me going down to Cornwall, then!’ said Toby. ‘Cheers!’

  Chapter Eleven

  When Alan Markby had referred to Cornwall as a quiet part of the world, he hadn’t been thinking of the effect of the Easter holidays on a renowned tourist destination. The roads were clogged and they made slow progress. The interior of the car was stifling. Meredith had drunk her bottle of water and they had eaten all the boiled sweets.

  ‘There’s another caravan up ahead,’ said Toby obligingly when they found themselves stuck in yet another tailback. The road here was little more than a lane between high banks bright with pink flowers.

  ‘Thanks. How much further is it to this cottage of Alison’s?’

  Toby consulted the map. ‘Not far. Fifteen miles.’

  Meredith groaned. Fifteen miles might just as well be fifty in present circumstances. She looked at her wristwatch. This was all going to prove a ghastly mistake.

  Toby, on the other hand, had cheered up since they had entered the county and no amount of traffic problems could quench his enthusiasm.

  ‘I love this area. I used to come down here with my parents during school holidays. I remember sunbathing on the beach at Daymer Beach and, later, learning to ride the surf at Polzeath. That was when I was much older, of course. In our earlier years, my brother and I used to scramble over the rocks seeing what we could find in the pools, and several times we nearly got cut off by the tide. It comes in very fast along this stretch of coast.’

  ‘Where is your brother now?’ enquired Meredith.

  ‘He’s a marine biologist. He puts that down entirely to those seaside holidays in Cornwall. But he’s working in Australia now.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘Retired to Portugal,’ said Toby. ‘Well out of it. They were sorry to hear about Fiona, of course. But I doubt they’ll be coming back here for the funeral.’

  It was the first mention Meredith had heard of funeral arrangements for Fiona Jenner. ‘Has the coroner released the body?’

  ‘Not yet, but Jeremy’s putting pressure on. The thing is, Chantal will stay until Fiona’s decently sent on her way and the rest of us have to put up with it. I think Jeremy was all for throwing her out of the house before she’d been in it five minutes, but Alison wouldn’t hear of it. The funeral is goin
g to be an awkward affair. There’s that girl in London, Tara. She’ll want to be at the service. I pointed that out to Jeremy but he mumbled that he meant it to be family only. I said that in the circumstances Fiona had looked on Tara as family. But that didn’t go down well, and I didn’t get a proper reply. I think she’s been on the phone to him.’

  ‘Tara Seale has?’

  ‘Yes. At least, I’m fairly sure. It’s difficult to be absolutely certain because, as I said, Jeremy won’t talk to me about it. I think he’s annoyed now that I went up to the flat and found Tara there. But it was all his idea! I overheard him talking to Alison. Tara was mentioned followed by something about her having no rights. My guess is that Jeremy is trying to freeze her out and I think that’s unfair. She was Fi’s partner, after all. I think Jeremy wants to get her out of the flat. It appears Fiona didn’t make a will. The whole thing is basically rather petty. I had thought Jeremy had a more generous nature, at least a modern attitude. He seems to be turning into an aggrieved Victorian paterfamilias. I think that he and I are heading for a vigorous disagreement about it, but I don’t want to row with him just yet, not while he’s got so much else to worry about. Even so, I’m not going to let him freeze Tara out. It’s not right. It’s not what Fiona would have wished. It’s downright cruel, if you ask me. He’s not going to get away with it. I won’t let him.’ Toby gave a determined nod.

  ‘He’s grieving,’ Meredith reminded him. ‘Grief doesn’t listen to reasonable argument. Give him a week or two.’

  ‘No one’s listening to anyone just now, that’s the trouble.’ Toby folded the map carefully into a neat rectangle. ‘I don’t have time to wait for Jeremy to change his attitude, anyway. He’s got to be made to see Tara has to be included right now. Alison would be kind to Tara, I’m sure, just as she’s tried to be kind to Chantal. But I can’t ask for her help with this. Since that last letter came, Alison’s been as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. She’s given up on Chantal and it’s not just the moment to talk to her about Tara, I’m afraid. Turn right here!’