The Staveley Suspect

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘I like the picture,’ said Ben, to nobody in particular.

  ‘I like the carpet,’ said Bonnie. Together they had identified the two things that indicated the individuality of the family in residence.

  Debbie was on the sofa, a pen in hand and large notepad on her lap. She was wearing a baggy jumper and leggings, her hair unbrushed. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘Here you are already.’ She waved vaguely at an armchair to her left. ‘Sit down.’

  Ben took the chair and Bonnie settled comfortably into a corner of the sofa, bringing up her knees and turning to look at Debbie. ‘You look like a little cat,’ said the woman. ‘All curled up like that.’

  ‘Let’s hope she’s as clever as a cat, then,’ said Matthew, who was lounging against the window sill, out of everybody’s line of sight.

  ‘Don’t stand there,’ his sister told him. ‘If you’re staying, sit where we can see you. Come here next to me.’ She patted the sofa and he meekly did as instructed, Ben watching him closely.

  Debbie dived straight into the main matter. ‘You know what I need from you, don’t you?’ Barely pausing for their nods, she went on, ‘I need to find hard evidence that my mother was responsible for my husband’s death last Friday. We all know she did it, but not exactly how. I know you two have been helpful to the police over this sort of thing before.’

  ‘Well …’ Bonnie began. ‘Not exactly with anything like this.’

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ Ben interrupted her. ‘You’ve been making notes, I see.’

  ‘Yes, I have. My head’s not working too well at the moment, so I try to write everything down.’ She held up the pad, which already had a page full of writing, at least. ‘This is the third page. Some of it won’t be relevant.’ She sighed. ‘I went back to when I first met Declan, you see. And then I thought I should take it even further – to when my mother first met him. It all got a bit long.’

  ‘Very helpful, I’m sure,’ said Ben encouragingly.

  ‘So let me give you the essentials, to start with, then you can ask me for more detail. Declan did law for his degree and applied for a job with Olsen and Townsend in Kendal. That’s my mother and Gillian Townsend.’

  ‘Except they weren’t called that then,’ said Matthew. ‘It was Hudson and Olsen when he first applied.’

  ‘Right.’ Debbie sighed, before going on, ‘Anyway, they rejected him out of hand. They obviously took against him for no reason at all. There were hardly any other applicants, and Dec was completely suitable.’

  ‘Which was the senior partner at the time?’ Ben asked.

  ‘My mother. Gillian was only a junior. She was promoted far too soon, purely as a way of keeping Declan out.’

  ‘But you hadn’t met him then?’ Ben said. ‘You didn’t see any of this going on at first hand?’

  ‘No. It was about three years later that he and I got together. But he was always talking about it. My mother said he wheedled his way into my affections to make sure she’d have to give him a job eventually. Which was extremely stupid of her.’ Her face hardened at these words. ‘She twisted it all round to make him look bad. He’d got a job he liked by the time I met him, anyway. It was really his father who kept banging on about a proper profession and wasting his degree.’

  Ben smiled patiently, which Debbie rightly interpreted as a nudge to bring the story up to the present. ‘So that went on for years and years. The whole time we were married, really. My mother was always criticising him and trying to undermine us as a couple. He couldn’t do anything right in her eyes. My father was almost as bad, although we never saw very much of him. He’s been in the army for twenty-five years, and only left a little while ago, when they forced him to retire. He’s always been very fit and hadn’t any other interests. He’s younger than my mother.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ asked Ben.

  Debbie became suddenly tearful. ‘We don’t know. I’ve been texting and emailing him, about Declan, but there’s been no answer. He’s got a flat in St Albans, and we thought he was there, but he doesn’t seem to be.’

  ‘So they’re not together? Your parents?’ said Bonnie.

  ‘Well, they’re not divorced, but they do live very separate lives. It was never much of a marriage, was it Matt?’

  Her brother waggled his head from side to side, in a non-committal gesture. ‘Get to the point, okay.’

  Debbie sniffed, reminding everyone that she had just been violently widowed and was resistant to broaching the subject of her husband’s untimely death. ‘Well, then my mother announced she was retiring, and Gillian insisted on giving her a big send-off here in Staveley, and Declan’s father woke up and said now was his chance to get the job, at last. There was a ghastly argument a few weeks ago, with my mother saying horrible things about Dec, and accusing him of ruining my life because we couldn’t afford a proper holiday – as if I cared about that. Matt was there as well, trying to stick up for us.’ She gave her brother a feeble smile. ‘And then, not much later he was dead. All smashed up on the road like a fox or a pheasant. No more nuisance for the solicitor sisters. That’s what we call them. And I know they did it, and they think they can get away with it.’

  ‘You think Gillian Townsend was involved as well?’ Ben asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I can’t see how it could have been managed otherwise. Somebody must be lying about the timing, and it can’t be that florist woman, can it?’

  ‘She’s our friend,’ said Bonnie.

  ‘Yes, yes. I’m not dissing her. It’s lucky, that’s all, that she can vouch for their whereabouts on Friday.’

  ‘So let’s look at the timing,’ said Ben. ‘There has to be some way of working out when it happened, surely?’

  ‘Okay. I know now that Declan stayed Wednesday and Thursday night with a man called Roger, who lives near Crook. Roger called me on Saturday, desperately sorry that he’d let Dec persuade him not to say anything. He thinks Dec would still be alive if he’d let me know where he was. He might be right, I suppose. He’s horribly upset about it, mostly because when I phoned him he lied and said Dec wasn’t there. He told me all he knew – which wasn’t very much. Declan went there right after the row, apparently. He just rushed off that evening, and never told me where he was going. That was on Wednesday, and when I couldn’t find him on Thursday, I panicked and reported him missing. Then they found a body between here and Kentmere and I was terrified it was him. That was Friday morning. So when they told me it was an old man, I had about two hours of relief before they came and told me they really had found Declan dead, after all. It felt like some terrible joke.’

  ‘Where did you think he was if he wasn’t with this Roger bloke?’ Ben asked.

  ‘I had no idea. I just thought he was laying low somewhere, thinking about what I’d said to him. I wasn’t very nice.’ She turned her face away in misery.

  ‘Lying,’ said Ben and Bonnie in a single breath, interrupting her final words.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s lying low, not laying low,’ said Ben. ‘Sorry. It’s rude, I know, but we’re on a campaign to get people to understand the difference. Otherwise, there’s a whole generation getting it wrong.’

  ‘Bit late, aren’t you?’ said Matthew. ‘Everybody says laying low now.’

  ‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ snapped Bonnie righteously.

  Debbie was looking from face to face in disbelief. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’ Ignoring the disagreement plain on both young faces, she looked down at her notes, and then went on, ‘He did that sometimes. Went off for a long drive after a row, or turned up at a friend’s house without warning. I tried to make him text me, and usually he did, but not always. And it was worse this time. He was really upset.’

  ‘What was the row about?’ asked Ben. ‘Was it between you and Declan?’

  ‘I don’t want to go into that,’ she muttered, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘It’s not relevant.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that? Didn’t the police ask y
ou?’

  ‘You’re not the police. You don’t have to know every single thing about us.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Bonnie, with a glance at her boyfriend. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Why was he on a bike?’ said Ben suddenly after looking at the clock in the alcove.

  ‘Well, he couldn’t take the car, could he? We’ve only got one, and I need it for work and the girls.’

  ‘Did he cycle a lot?’

  ‘Not really. It was an old bike he’d had since he was about sixteen. Only about three gears and the chain kept coming off. But he only went as far as Crook.’ Tears choked her. ‘I thought he was miles away, after I spoke to Roger. I thought he must be down in Barrow or somewhere, not just up the road. He could have walked there.’

  ‘That would have been just as dangerous,’ said Bonnie. ‘I mean – he’d still be vulnerable to fast traffic.’

  Ben threw her a grateful look. ‘So now we need to know what makes you think it was done deliberately. Why doesn’t anybody think it was an accident?’

  Matthew cleared his throat. ‘They can tell from his … injuries,’ he said.

  Debbie’s face seemed to close up, as if braced for a blow. ‘They didn’t want to tell me,’ she said. ‘But I made them. The car hit him twice.’ She said the words flatly, without inflexion.

  ‘Twice?’ Ben leant forward, eager for detail. ‘How?’

  The young widow gave him a long look full of pain. ‘It hit him and the bike, then it hit him again. Drove over him, actually. And the person quite likely rolled him out of sight after that, with his legs and back and face all broken.’

  ‘You mean they stopped and got out of the car? Wouldn’t that be risky? Another car could have come along and seen what was happening.’

  ‘It’s not a very busy road,’ said Matthew. ‘And if it was planned, it wouldn’t take long. The noise would be the main worry, if anybody was out in a field or garden. But nobody’s come forward as a witness. Nobody useful, anyway. One man heard something, that’s all.’

  ‘So – you think the driver waited for the road to be deserted, then dashed up behind the bike, smashed into it, then what – turned round? Reversed? And went back to make sure he was killed? And then, got out and pushed him into a ditch? How long would all that actually take?’ Ben looked to Bonnie for assistance.

  ‘They wouldn’t turn round,’ she said. ‘Just reverse quickly, then jump out to make sure the job was done, jump in again. Less than a minute, probably.’ She was pale, her voice low, her expression apologetic. ‘How absolutely horrible.’

  ‘I didn’t believe it when they told me. But it fits with the awful damage to his body.’ Debbie couldn’t go on for a moment. Then she swallowed and spoke again. ‘The initial impact would have sent him up in the air, over the car even, landing on his head. His legs wouldn’t have been hurt.’

  ‘Not wearing a helmet,’ Matthew added. ‘Didn’t even possess one.’

  ‘Someone was waiting for him, and that means they knew where he was staying, when he was likely to go out, which way he’d go. That’s if it really was planned,’ said Ben. ‘Did the police check his phone?’

  ‘They couldn’t find it. He didn’t take it everywhere with him. But I think he did have it, and I think the killer took it, because I think she sent him a text that made sure he’d be where she wanted him. Probably pretending to be me, asking him to come and talk to me at The Watermill in Ings – something like that. I think that’s what my mother did and then she took his phone and threw it away where nobody could find it. And if she gets away with it, I don’t see how I can carry on.’ The long-suppressed tears broke through the defences and she slumped back on the sofa, her hands over her face.

  ‘That’s a lot of “think”s,’ said Bonnie, after a decent interval. ‘It’s all guesswork, isn’t it?’

  ‘I know,’ wailed Debbie. ‘That’s why I need you. I want you to work out where my mother – Anita Olsen, the bitch – was, and how she managed to get another car, because the police have checked hers and it’s not at all damaged, and then kill Declan with it, and turn up at Gillian’s old mother’s cool as you like, to talk about a party. A party, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Which is where Simmy comes in,’ said Ben with a nod.

  ‘Yes, but it’s your mother,’ said Bonnie, not for the first time. ‘How will you carry on if she’s convicted of premeditated murder? How can there be such terribly bad blood between you?’

  Debbie shook her head obstinately. ‘You said that before, at the shop. Not all mothers are loving and caring and unselfish, you know.’

  Ben took over. ‘Bonnie knows that very well,’ he said. ‘Her own mother was hopeless, inadequate, neglectful – which is why she’s finding it so hard to understand.’

  ‘I don’t get that,’ said Debbie. ‘But it doesn’t matter. You have to take my word for it.’

  ‘And mine,’ said Matthew, reaching over to pat his sister’s arm. ‘She was a monster.’ He looked at Bonnie. ‘I’m guessing you were rescued from yours. We weren’t so lucky. We were stuck with her, living in what looked like a perfectly ordinary family to anyone outside. She even managed to divide us from each other until we saw what her game was.’

  Ben looked at the clock again. ‘We’ll have to go,’ he said. ‘I just hope the lamp works on my bike. It’s dark, look. Sorry to cut this short, but you’ve given us plenty to think about.’ Bonnie got up to follow him, her expression showing her reluctance at being thwarted of hearing more of the family background. The movement activated another spell of coughing, giving rise to a look of concern on Ben’s face.

  They let themselves out, only to be confronted by a large man coming up the garden path. He stopped walking and stared hard at them. ‘Who are you two?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, nobody much,’ said Ben. ‘Your daughter-in-law will explain, if you’re interested.’

  ‘Are those your bicycles?’ The man waved towards the road. ‘They shouldn’t be leaning on the hedge like that.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t think they’ll do any harm, actually. Especially not at this time of year.’

  ‘Don’t answer back, laddie. And how did you know I was Debbie’s father-in-law?’

  ‘Gosh, Mr Kennedy, I think everybody knows you around here. You’re our most important local politician, after all.’

  The man snorted, trying to conceal his gratification. Bonnie made a similar sound, more quietly. ‘Well, I hope you haven’t been upsetting poor Debbie. That’s all I can say.’

  ‘I’m not sure she could be any more upset than she is already,’ said Bonnie. ‘Now, please excuse us. We’re late.’

  When the man had disappeared into the house, the two allowed themselves to laugh. ‘You were wonderful,’ Bonnie applauded. ‘Pompous old pig he is.’

  ‘He’s been on the town council for about fifty years, and thinks he’s king. The world revolves around Spencer Kennedy, and he makes sure everybody knows it.’

  ‘Pity we don’t think he killed Declan,’ said Bonnie. ‘He’d be a perfect suspect. Just think what fun we could have.’

  ‘Don’t speak too soon,’ said Ben. ‘If there’s no evidence against Anita Olsen, the field might yet be wide open.’

  Cycling back was much less enjoyable than the earlier ride. It was cold; Bonnie’s nose and eyes streamed and she couldn’t wipe them; when she coughed, the wind seemed to blow it right back down her throat; headlights dazzled them and they couldn’t hear each other. They went first to Ben’s house in Bowness, where Bonnie was given hot chocolate and a large cotton hanky. ‘I’ll walk home from here,’ she said. ‘My legs are too tired to pedal any further.’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ said Helen Harkness.

  ‘No, you don’t have to. It’s barely half a mile.’

  ‘I insist. And Ben – go and do some revision. You said you’d be back by half past seven.’

  ‘Did I?’ Ben was distracted by thoughts and theories concerning the Staveley people
. ‘What is it now, then?’

  ‘You got back at ten past eight. It’s nearly half past now.’

  His shrug was too small to cause offence, but Helen wasn’t pleased. ‘Poor Bonnie. Look at you! You’ll get pneumonia at this rate, as my granny used to say.’

  ‘It was good, though,’ Bonnie assured her. ‘We were amazing.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. I seriously do not want to know anything about it. All I want is for the two of you to survive. That’s not a lot to ask, is it?’

  The youngsters knew better than to laugh. For Helen, given recent experience, the ambition was not at all amusing. ‘We will, I promise,’ said Bonnie, with a cough.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the end of the day, Simmy had forgotten that Anita Olsen was staying in Kendal, too upset to go home to Staveley where she presumably lived alone. Once again the two mismatched women stood side by side to greet her, just as they’d done the previous Friday. Not so much shoulder to shoulder as shoulder to elbow, Simmy thought to herself. She knew she was going to have to pay very close attention to the conversation she intended to conduct with them. She would also have to take care over her own side of it. No mention of Debbie Kennedy, for one thing. The main challenge was to explain her change of heart and account for her presence in this very bland little terrace house.

  The first surprise was the discovery that there was a Mr Gillian Townsend. He was sitting in an armchair when Simmy was taken into the front room, reading a dry-looking magazine. ‘This is Robin,’ said Gillian. ‘Robin, this is the flower lady I told you about. Mrs Brown. She’s got that shop in Windermere.’

  The man looked up, his face comically blank. ‘Good evening, Mrs Brown,’ he said, like a well-trained schoolboy. Then he looked to his wife. ‘Do you want me to go somewhere else?’

  ‘Actually, that might be helpful. Haven’t you got some emails to send or something?’