by Faith Martin
Again, acting instinctively, she ran to it to look out, but just as she reached it, she heard Clement give a swift and sharp exclamation behind her. It made her hesitate and turn around. For some reason, she saw him suddenly dart off behind the large, kitchen table and bend down.
Trudy, reluctant to give up the chase, thrust her head out of the door and looked around the back garden. Had she seen a fleeing cat or dog, she would have felt very sheepish indeed, but there was no sign of anyone in the Baines’ garden – animal or human.
And yet the air around her seemed almost to thrum, and although she would never have been so rash as to write her feelings down in an official report, she was sure that someone, possibly panic-stricken, had just run through the garden.
‘Trudy, call an ambulance!’ Clement’s tense voice brought her scuttling back into the kitchen in time to see her friend bent over the prone form of Angela Baines. Her face looked slack and pale, and there was blood seeping out from under her head. As she watched, Clement bent down and put a finger to the side of her neck.
Trudy froze and held her breath as she waited for his verdict.
‘Ambulance!’ he repeated tersely, and Trudy, shaken from her temporary shock, ran to the hall, where she’d noticed a telephone resting on a console table as they’d passed. She quickly dialled the emergency number, asked for an ambulance and gave the address. Then she hung up and dialled her own station number. On a Sunday, she doubted that DI Jennings would be in, (rank had its privileges as she’d often been told!) but she quickly related the situation to PC Walter Swinburne, who was on duty, knowing she could trust him to quickly set things in motion. He might be the oldest PC there – and something of a station joke – but he could still work fast and competently when it was required.
She darted back to the kitchen doorway and paused, watching as Dr Ryder put his ear to the woman’s chest. Her own heart was beating so fast in her chest she actually put up a hand to her sternum and pressed down. ‘Is she going to be all right?’ Trudy asked, her voice just a little tremulous.
Clement’s lips thinned, but he sat back on his heels and looked at her severely. ‘Her pulse is erratic, and her breathing reedy. The ambulance had better get here quickly.’
Trudy swallowed hard. ‘Has she been bashed on the head?’ she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.
‘She has a head wound certainly,’ Clement agreed cautiously. ‘She might have slipped and fallen and banged her head on the floor.’
‘But you don’t think so?’
Clement shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t like to make a guess – not without moving her head for a closer look, anyway. And I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
Trudy had a sudden thought. ‘Where’s Janet?’ But before Clement could respond, she turned and checked the living room – which was also empty – then ran upstairs. She was relieved to find that all the bedrooms and bathroom were also empty.
She came back downstairs. ‘Janet’s not here,’ she informed Clement.
Just then, Angela’s eyes fluttered opened. Clement saw at once that her pupils were distended, and that she looked vague and puzzled.
‘Janet?’ Angela said.
‘It’s Dr Ryder, Mrs Baines. Everything is all right, an ambulance is on the way. Don’t worry,’ Clement said in his best reassuring bedside manner. But he doubted that she heard him, let alone understood him, for there was no flicker of reaction on her face.
‘Janet,’ she said again. And then, quite clearly, she added, ‘Hit me …’
Trudy felt the shock go through her and glanced at Clement inquiringly. But already the coroner was shaking his head in warning.
‘I doubt she’s aware of what she’s saying,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s all David’s fault,’ Angela said next, with a huge sigh. ‘Why did she have his diary?’
At this, even Clement looked shaken. With a questioning look, Trudy sank to her knees by the injured woman, and said softly, ‘Where is the diary, Mrs Baines?’
Angela sighed and closed her eyes.
Patiently, Trudy and Clement kept watch. It could only have been a few minutes since she had phoned for an ambulance, but already it seemed an age. Clement, his fingers clasped around the stricken woman’s wrist, kept one eye on his watch.
‘Bedroom,’ Angela suddenly said, about a minute later.
Trudy, more because she couldn’t bear to continue to watch the woman’s shallow breathing, dreadfully anticipating the moment when it might stop altogether, got to her feet and went back upstairs.
It was easy to tell which of the two bedrooms belonged to Janet by simply checking the contents of the wardrobe. Then, unknowingly mimicking the actions of Angela Baines less than ten minutes ago, Trudy set about searching Janet’s wardrobe, then her chest of drawers, finding nothing that she wouldn’t expect in a young woman’s bedroom.
Would she really find the diary? And if she did … how had Janet come by it unless she had taken it from David Finch’s dead body? Of course, there might be another explanation, but at the very least, it certainly put Janet Baines firmly mixed up in things! And what must her poor mother have thought when she’d found it? Surely she too, must have wondered if her daughter was a murderess?
But so far there was no sign of the incriminating book. Perhaps Janet kept it with her? It wasn’t until she sat down at the vanity table and met her own troubled reflection in the oval mirror, that she noticed the fancy wooden box.
It had been placed hastily back onto the lace cloth runner where it must habitually have been kept, making the delicate material scrunch up untidily on itself. Since the rest of the table had been laid out very neatly and with precision – brushes, scent bottles and a little dish of potpourri – it caught her eye as being incongruous.
Trudy picked it up to examine it further and felt something push unexpectedly against her hand, almost dropping it in surprise.
She didn’t know it then, but Angela, in her haste, had failed to push the hidden drawer firmly enough back for it to catch on its locking mechanism. All that Trudy knew was that the bottom segment of the box had jerked open and was now revealing a hidden compartment.
She opened the drawer out, her eyes widening and her breath catching, as she saw the dark, leather-bound book inside. As she reached to retrieve it, the sudden sound of a siren, not far away, had her head shooting up. She stood and looked out of the window, seeing a blue flashing light appear at the far end of the village.
The ambulance!
Clutching the book in her hand she ran back down the stairs and out into the garden to the gate, waiting to guide the medical personnel to the kitchen.
Clement was relieved to see the attendants deal quickly with the woman. Although he was no longer able to practise medicine, he had been able to impress on the ambulance team the urgency of the situation, and his calm and knowledgeable précis of her suspected injuries were accepted with respect and relief. Probably both of them knew him by sight, for neither one questioned him, but simply accepted his orders with quiet efficiency.
As they watched the ambulance depart in a rush of speed and noise – not going unnoticed by Angela’s immediate neighbours – Trudy finally felt able to turn her attention to the journal in her hands.
‘I think I might have found David Finch’s journal,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to read it quickly, before DI Jennings arrives and takes over.’
Clement needed no second bidding and right there, in the doorway of the house, they began to read.
It was a detailed and careful account of everyone that David had talked to after Iris’s death, and his own thoughts and feelings, and independent researches, plus his thoughts on Iris and one particular piece of jewellery. All of which lead to his growing conviction that he knew who it was who must have murdered Iris, and culminated in the final sentence of the lined notepad.
Although I don’t want to believe it, it must have been RD
‘RD,’ Trudy breathed. ‘Ronnie Dewberry.
His best friend.’ Trudy suddenly clutched Clement’s arm and looked at him with wide, frightened eyes.
‘Janet!’ she wailed. ‘Janet must be with him now! We’ve got to find her! You said once before you were worried she might be in danger as well, and I think you were right.’ Suddenly all her suspicions about the girl being the killer fled, and instead she saw her only as a potential third victim.
Clement agreed they had no choice but to take quick action, and they both ran pell-mell to his Rover, but his mind was racing even faster than his legs. It wasn’t until they were racing towards the Dewberry farm that Trudy realised that she still had the journal clutched to her chest, and that soon DI Jennings would be arriving at the house, expecting her to be there to give him her report!
But surely he’d realise why they hadn’t been able to wait for him?
Even now she felt herself watching the speedometer, willing the car to go faster.
Chapter 32
Duncan Gillingham had almost been caught napping as he’d sat in his car parked a long way down the road from the coroner’s Rover. He’d been absently reading a rival Sunday newspaper when he’d glanced up, and had seen Trudy and the old vulture actually running down the road, and all but throwing themselves into the car.
His own heart racing, he’d fumbled with the ignition key and had raced away to try and catch up with them. Hell, they were driving fast! Luckily, it was only a small village and he’d just been in time to see them turn off onto the no-through road that led to the Dewberry farm.
His mouth went dry. Why were they going back there, to the scene of the suicide? And what on earth had happened to make them move with such urgent speed? His heart racing in triumphant anticipation, he made the same turn-off and put his foot down. Whatever was going on, he sure as hell didn’t want to miss it!
Janet heard the car enter the cobbled courtyard and frowned. She hadn’t hurried getting the picnic assembled, lingering in the kitchen and talking with Ronnie, and even getting together a Thermos of tea, but now she wished she hadn’t dallied. Whoever was out there, she didn’t want them interrupting things now.
‘Is that your dad?’ she asked peevishly, peering over the sink and out of the window.
‘Doesn’t sound like Dad’s car,’ Ronnie said nervously. ‘And I think he’s out on the farm anyway.’ So saying, he walked to the window and pulled a rather dirty curtain further out of the way. He saw the familiar, white-haired figure of the coroner stepping out of his car, and the pretty girl who always seemed to be with him, just opening the passenger door.
Then movement further away caught his eye and he saw another car pulling to a stop and parking up on the edge of the farm track about two hundred yards back. He swore softly under his breath and felt his heartbeat kick up a notch.
Seeing his tension, Janet very carefully picked up a small but sharp-bladed kitchen knife and carefully and slowly moved her hand down so that it rested, all-but-hidden, against the fullness of her skirt.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked casually.
‘It’s that coroner again. The one who’s handling David’s case,’ Ronnie growled.
Janet’s lips firmed into a thin line. ‘What’s he doing here?’ she asked, almost accusingly.
Ronnie shot her a puzzled, slightly angry look. ‘How should I know? I suppose I’d better go and see what he wants.’
Janet nodded and quickly followed.
Trudy and Clement were walking towards the farmhouse when the door opened and Ronnie stepped out. Trudy almost wilted with relief when she saw Janet appear right behind him.
‘She’s all right!’ she murmured to Clement, who merely nodded. His eyes, calm but alert, went from the lovely young girl to the tense young man beside her.
‘Hello there,’ Clement said calmly. ‘We were hoping to find you here, Janet,’ he added amiably. With all the tension he could sense in the air, he wanted to try and calm things down a bit.
‘Me?’ Janet said, moving just a little closer to Ronnie, careful to keep the knife in her hand hidden. ‘Why?’
‘I’m afraid we have some bad news,’ Clement began. ‘We called in at your house after church and found your mother in her kitchen.’
Janet blinked. ‘I don’t quite see …’ She trailed off, turning to look at Trudy, then back to the older man, her eyes questing.
‘It seems she might have taken a fall,’ Clement clarified, not actually lying, but by no means convinced that he was telling the truth either. ‘She’s hurt her head. I’m afraid her injury might be quite serious.’
‘Oh no!’ It was, surprisingly, Ronnie who reacted first. ‘Janet!’ He looked at her, seemingly genuinely appalled. ‘I’ll drive you to the hospital. Has she been taken to the Radcliffe Infirmary?’ he shot at Clement.
Trudy shifted slightly on her feet beside her mentor, aware that she was beginning to get a very strange feeling. Things weren’t happening as she thought they would. She’d come here, half-expecting something really bad to have happened. Maybe to find that Janet, too, had been attacked, or to find Ronnie in the act of hurting her? But as she looked at the two figures in front of her, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Why wasn’t Janet more concerned about her mother? She was acting as if she’d almost forgotten her. Instead she seemed … excited? Wary? She couldn’t quite tell. But there was definitely something off about the whole atmosphere that she couldn’t quite pin down; something skewed somehow.
She sensed danger, yes. But she couldn’t quite understand what that danger was, or the source of it. Trudy glanced sideways at Clement, wondering if it was just her and could see that he too was very tense and alert.
In her chest, she felt her heart pounding.
‘Yes, she’ll be in the Radcliffe. If you like, Miss Baines, I can drive you,’ Clement answered Ronnie’s question, but kept his eyes on Janet. Trudy liked the way he sounded so normal and everyday, and she hoped he’d succeed in separating the two of them. She’d feel a lot better once they were away from this place.
Janet though, seemed in no hurry to move. Instead she looked slowly from Trudy to Clement and then at Ronnie in a calculating way that now made everyone openly uneasy.
Ronnie, perhaps last of all, also felt the unnaturalness of the situation and he took a small step away from Janet, and half-turned to look at her more closely. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked helplessly.
Janet gave a bleak smile. ‘Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?’ she asked tightly. ‘Apart from the fact that you murdered my best friend, you mean? And your own, apparently?’
Ronnie went white. He took another couple of awkward steps away and gaped at her. ‘What? What are you talking about?’ he asked, his voice half aghast squeak and half fearful whisper.
‘Don’t bother denying it,’ Janet said flatly, almost angrily, taking comfort from the feel of the knife handle in her hand. ‘I found his diary.’
‘Diary? Whose … You mean David’s?’ Ronnie shot a quick look – seeking confirmation – at Clement, who met his gaze with a level one of his own.
Ronnie felt himself begin to nod vaguely, even as his mind scurried about, trying to seek traction. So his worst nightmare was coming true after all. To his surprise it was almost a relief. For so long now he’d lived with the dread of it all coming out and fearing what would happen then. But now that it had, curiously, instead of feeling even more terrified, he felt instead as if someone had lifted off a massive, heavy, suffocating weight that had been smothering him.
‘I did start to wonder,’ he said wearily. ‘When you first asked me about it …’ He turned to look at Clement, but then turned to Janet again. ‘You found it?’
‘I did,’ Janet said with immense satisfaction. Of them all – the astute coroner, his pretty assistant, her mother, all the villagers and even all the cops working on Iris’s case, not to forget Ronnie … her Ronnie … she had been the only one clever enough to make the discovery. It gave her a much-needed confidence boost. ‘He hid it in his favourite hiding p
lace when we were kids,’ she said simply.
Ronnie blinked, then nodded with a bleak smile of acceptance. ‘Under the old pavilion? I never did like playing that game much,’ he added sadly.
‘I know, that’s probably why you never thought of it,’ Janet said. If he had, he could have found the diary himself and destroyed the evidence against him. And she couldn’t help, even now, almost wishing that he had.
She was watching him closely now, like a cat at a mouse-hole, and he began to feel a coldness creep up his spine.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he demanded.
‘Because I read it,’ Janet said, her voice turning hard. ‘David found out. About Iris.’
‘What do you mean? What about Iris?’ Ronnie asked, his mouth going dry. ‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, he was very diligent,’ Janet said almost mockingly. ‘He found out all about what went on at Mortimer Crowley’s parties, for instance. That must have turned his stomach.’
Ronnie shook his head, looking like a bewildered puppy. Clearly, whatever he’d expected her to say, it hadn’t been that. ‘What?’
‘Iris told me about it,’ Janet said indifferently, shrugging one shoulder. ‘Oh, not right away. She knew I’d be shocked and try and talk her out of going. But when she started to buy herself nice things, and saw me noticing …’ Janet sighed. ‘She told me about the men who paid her to … You know …’
Ronnie swallowed hard. Absurdly he felt himself flushing red with embarrassment. ‘Oh,’ he mumbled. ‘I never knew … I mean, I knew Iris … but not …’
‘Oh yes, I daresay you knew Iris all right,’ Janet said, and there was no denying the bitterness in her voice now. ‘I always thought that you, at least, were different,’ she swept on, glaring at him. ‘But you weren’t, were you? You were just like all the others,’ she went on, her voice rising and getting louder and louder as she finally lost control. ‘Panting after her, promising her the world, no doubt. Just like all the silly old duffers in the village, and Mortimer’s perverted London friends, and … oh, how could you?’ she all but wailed.
