David Webb 2 - A Necessary End

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘No!’ she said violently. ‘No, no, no!’

  The extent of her shock seemed unexpected, since the others turned to her. The housekeeper took a step forward. ‘Miss Rose — ’ but the girl still stared at Oliver.

  ‘She can’t be!’ she said almost pleadingly. ‘It’s just not possible. Oh God, God, it isn’t true, is it? Is it?’

  Her father was clearly at a loss. He said more gently, ‘I’m afraid so. It’s hard to believe, I know. I can’t imagine — ’

  Her tension suddenly snapped. She hurled herself sideways on the sofa, burying her face in the cushions and pounding them with her fists.

  Pendrick said tersely, ‘Get some brandy,’ and went to his daughter. The boy’s face was ashen, but Webb suspected that his sister’s reaction had shocked him more than the death of his stepmother. Stiffly, obediently, he moved to the drinks tray.

  Mrs Foldes had started to tremble. ‘Oh, the poor lady!’ she murmured, and, suddenly connecting facts, looked up at Webb. ‘That lady in the paper, sir. Was that Mrs Nancy?’

  He nodded.

  ‘But we thought she was in London.’

  Pendrick raised his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her against him. ‘Darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be so upset.’

  She made no sound, but tears streamed from her eyes. Like a docile child, she sipped from the glass he held, shuddering as she swallowed the liquid. In the pallor of her face, her eyes had darkened to slate and Webb could see fear in them.

  ‘Have they got him?’ she whispered.

  ‘Got who, love?’

  She checked herself, swallowed, drew a breath. ‘The — the man who did it.’

  ‘Not yet, but they will. That’s why these gentlemen are here. They want to ask us — ’

  Rose said in a high voice, ‘I don’t know anything — anything at all.’ Pushing her father aside, she came suddenly to her feet and, brushing past the group in the archway, ran stumblingly from the room. There was a brief silence. Henry still stood in the middle of the room, an expression of disbelief on his face. Either Pendrick had underestimated his children’s affections, or there was some other cause for their distress. They must be questioned before they’d a chance to confer.

  ‘Lord save us — my pie!’ Mrs Foldes hurried back to the kitchen. Webb said quietly, ‘We’ll disturb you as little as possible, Mr Pendrick, and I know your meal is ready, but if we could just have a word with your son here?’

  A look of alarm crossed the boy’s face and Jackson thought he’d repeat his sister’s disclaimer. But Pendrick was saying heavily, ‘Yes, of course, I’ll leave you to it. And you’ll need to eat yourselves. I’ll ask Mrs Foldes to prepare something.’ Left with the police, Henry Pendrick licked his lips nervously. ‘I’m afraid I shan’t be much help. I didn’t even know Nancy was in Broadshire. She was due last night, but she never turned up.’ He paused, then added, ‘Well, of course she didn’t.’

  Webb moved into the room and sat down, motioning Jackson to do likewise. ‘When did you last see her, Mr Pendrick?’

  ‘Monday evening. We were all in here — my uncle and aunt as well, watching TV. Rose and I sat up for the late film and the others went to bed.’

  ‘You didn’t see her the following morning?’

  ‘No, she’d gone by the time I got up.’

  ‘How did she seem on Monday? Was she relaxed, or could she have been worried about something?’

  ‘She was — the same as usual.’

  ‘Did you get on well with her?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘She got our backs up when she first came. Tried to boss us around, and so on.’

  ‘But that was three years ago. Hadn’t things improved since?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Yet according to his father, Henry had gone to her with ‘a problem’. Leaving that for the moment, Webb continued, ‘Did your sister also resent her?’

  ‘Yes. She thought she was far too bossy.’

  ‘Yet she was upset to hear of her death.’

  Henry was silent, but Webb persisted. ‘Were you surprised by her reaction?’

  He moved uneasily. ‘I was a bit. It must have been the shock.’

  Yes, Jackson thought, shock — and fear. They, rather than grief, might account for her tears. But why should Rose be afraid?

  ‘You work in your father’s hotel?’

  ‘Only in the vac. I’m studying Hotel and Catering Management at Guildford.’

  ‘And what does your sister do?’

  ‘She’s at Broadminster Art School. She wants to be a sculptor.’

  A sculptor needs strong hands, Webb thought, and Nancy’d only a little neck. He changed tack. ‘Did Mrs Pendrick spend time with anyone particular at the party last weekend?’

  ‘No, she was moving round being sociable.’

  ‘Did any of the guests come from Shillingham or that direction?’

  ‘I don’t think so. They were nearly all local, except my uncle and aunt and a friend of Dad’s from Oxford.’

  ‘So you can’t account for her being in Shillingham?’

  ‘Not at all. When she’d made such a fuss about the short week, why come back again the next day?’

  ‘You realize, then, that she died on Wednesday?’ Henry’s eyes flew to his face. ‘You told Mrs Foldes it’s the Chedbury case.’

  So he at least had read the item. ‘Did you suspect it might be?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I told you, we were convinced she was in London.’

  ‘Where were you on Wednesday afternoon?’ The question came casually and Henry didn’t immediately see its significance. Then he flushed and answered too quickly.

  ‘Helping the pastry chef.’

  Webb nodded at Jackson, who made a note to check with the hotel.

  ‘Is there anything at all you can tell us, which might be useful?’

  ‘No, nothing. Sorry.’

  It could be the truth. His approach to Nancy might be irrelevant but Webb would have preferred him to mention it. Perhaps, after reflection, he would. Webb let it ride for now.

  ‘Then that’s all for the time being, thank you. Sergeant, see if the young lady can spare us a moment.’

  ‘I’ll get her,’ Henry offered, but Webb shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, sir. Sergeant Jackson will ask the housekeeper.’

  Henry shrugged and followed Jackson out of the room. Webb sat back in his chair, looking around him. Patio doors led to a large, well-tended garden, drab at this season but with plants and bushes neatly trimmed for spring. No doubt the hotel gardener looked after it.

  He remembered the years of his marriage, and Susan’s insistence on his mowing the lawn, no matter how tired he was. ‘What will the neighbours think?’ she’d ask. As if he cared.

  There was the sound of footsteps and Rose Pendrick came through the arch, followed by Jackson. She’d recovered her composure. Her eyes were dry and gave no sign of recent tears.

  ‘You wanted to see me? Chief Inspector, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, miss.’

  She sat on the sofa and regarded him steadily, not a frightened girl looking at a police officer, but a woman looking at a man. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Now, Miss Pendrick, I know you’re upset and I’ll make this as brief as possible. Have you any idea why your stepmother was killed?’

  A tremor shook her and she caught her lip between her teeth. But her eyes didn’t leave his. ‘None at all.’

  I don’t believe her, Webb thought. She knows something, but she’s no intention of telling us.

  ‘Was she popular in the village?’

  ‘She was hardly ever here.’

  ‘But when she was, she and your father entertained.’

  ‘Sometimes, but they’re Daddy’s friends. His and — my mother’s.’

  ‘When did your mother die, Miss Pendrick?’

  ‘Four years ago.’

  And it was
three since Pendrick remarried. He could understand her resentment. ‘Did she have a long illness?’

  ‘No illness at all. She fell downstairs and broke her neck.’

  Pendrick was unlucky with his wives. ‘I’m very sorry. To return to your stepmother, can you think of anything that would bring her to Shillingham mid-week?’

  Again the flicker, followed by an emphatic shake of her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘When did you last speak to her?’

  ‘I didn’t see her after Monday evening.’

  ‘Finally, Miss Pendrick, can you tell me what you were doing between four and six on Wednesday afternoon?’

  Her knuckles clenched but she answered calmly. ‘Sculpting in my room. It was some holiday work I’d been set.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm that?’

  ‘No one checked up on me, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Do you drive, Miss Pendrick?’

  ‘Naturally. I’ve my own car.’

  ‘But you didn’t go to Shillingham that afternoon?’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘All right, miss. That’s all, thank you.’

  Her eyes moved slowly and deliberately over him. Then, without a word, she rose and left the room.

  Jackson gave a low whistle. ‘You’d better watch it, Guv! I think she fancies you!’

  ‘I’m old enough to be her father.’

  ‘So? She’s quite something, though, isn’t she?’

  ‘She is indeed, Ken.’

  More footsteps, and this time Mrs Foldes appeared bearing a tray, which she set on the coffee table. ‘Mr Pendrick thought you’d be more comfortable in here, sir. If there’s anything you want, just let me know.’

  A nice distinction, Webb thought ironically. Not invited to eat with the family, whose low voices now reached him from the dining area, but not sent to the kitchen, either. Or perhaps, to do Pendrick justice, he had assumed they’d want to talk privately.

  He sampled the pie. Despite Mrs Foldes’s distraction, it was very good. ‘When we’ve eaten, we’ll take a look at Mrs Pendrick’s things and have a word with the housekeeper. Then we’ll go to the hotel and try to discover where the ex-husband buzzed off to.’

  Jackson felt in his pocket. ‘When I went for the girl, Mr Pendrick gave me this. It’s a list of the party guests, with their addresses.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Webb laid it beside his plate and glanced at it casually. Then he stiffened. The third name down was Miss Charlotte Yates. ‘A friend of Dad’s from Oxford.’

  ‘My God!’ he said softly.

  ‘What is it, Guv?’

  Webb tapped the list with his knife. ‘There’s a lady here whom I met last Sunday.’

  Jackson grinned. ‘Didn’t know you moved in such circles! Reckon she did it?’

  ‘No, but I’d certainly like to speak to her. I’d no idea she knew the Pendricks.’ Perhaps Hannah did, too. Webb’s mind started racing.

  ‘She might have noticed something,’ Jackson said hopefully.

  ‘Too true. If there was anything to notice, she’d notice it all right.’

  The bedroom to which they were led after lunch contained predominantly Pendrick’s things. ‘As you see, Chief Inspector, there’s little of Nancy’s here. The London flat was still her real home.’

  It took only minutes to flick through the few underclothes, a jumper or two and some catering magazines. There were no personal papers. It occurred to Jackson that if there had been, there’d been opportunity enough, during the interviews and lunch, for Oliver Pendrick to remove them.

  ‘Not much here, as you say.’ Webb turned back to Pendrick, who was watching them from the doorway. ‘We’ll need to examine the clothes you were wearing on Wednesday. It’s for elimination really, but it gives us a starting-point. So if you could collect them together and ask your son and daughter to do the same, I’d be very grateful. They’ll be returned as soon as the lab’s finished with them.’

  He didn’t like that, Webb thought. They never did. However innocent they were, they feared some terrible secret might be revealed under analysis.

  ‘We’ll call back when we’ve been to the hotel, but first we’ll have a quick word with Mrs Foldes, if that’s all right.’

  The housekeeper had little to contribute. She’d been with the Pendricks for twenty years and since neither wife had tried to usurp her kitchen, she’d been content. She respectfully made it clear that, police or no police, she’d no intention of discussing her employers with them. In any case, the Pendricks were unlikely to have conducted their arguments in her presence. It was a necessary but unfruitful interview, and when it was completed the two men walked across the road to the hotel.

  Known internationally for its comfort and cuisine, The Gables took a murder inquiry in its stride. Interviews were held discreetly in Pendrick’s office, but the staff hadn’t known Nancy and couldn’t add to Webb’s knowledge of her. There was, however, one positive outcome. Dean had indeed left a note of his whereabouts, and the receptionist handed it over.

  Webb glanced at it and passed it without comment to Jackson. It was an address in Shillingham.

  ‘Well, lad,’ he said ten minutes later, as he fastened his seat-belt, ‘I’ll give you three guesses where we’re going now.’

  ‘Eleven Jubilee Road.’

  ‘Got it in one!’

  *

  The humbler residents of Shillingham lived near the railway. Along Station Road were the cheaper chain stores and discount warehouses, while behind the station, small terraced houses and working men’s clubs crowded together in enforced intimacy. The crisscross of narrow streets bore such names as Trafalgar, Waterloo and Balaclava. Which jubilee was commemorated, Jackson didn’t know — he suspected Victoria’s — but he knew where to find it, since one of his informers lived there. As he switched off the engine outside No. 11, the roar of the crowd reached them from the nearby football stadium.

  ‘United are playing at home,’ he told Webb. ‘Bob will be in there rooting!’

  Sergeant Dawson was a fanatical supporter of the home team.

  ‘Never mind, you’ll get a blow by blow account on Monday.’

  Iron railings had once graced the low wall, but in keeping with their proud name, the residents of Jubilee Road had, during the war, sent them to be melted for munitions. The scars still remained, unsightly bumps on the cracked, uneven brickwork.

  The two men walked up the path. Webb raised the tarnished knocker and let it fall. The door was opened by a faded woman in bedroom slippers, who regarded them suspiciously.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Webb said pleasantly. ‘Is Mr Dean at home?’

  Her face closed. ‘No he isn’t, more’s the pity, since he owes a week’s rent.’

  ‘You mean he’s left?’

  ‘Cleared off without a word.’

  ‘When was this, Mrs — ?’

  ‘Tallow’s the name. Wednesday night, it was, and not a whisper beforehand, never mind a week’s notice.’

  Webb’s voice was expressionless. ‘Could we come in for a moment? I’m Chief Inspector Webb and this is Sergeant Jackson.’

  ‘I don’t want no trouble with the police.’

  ‘We’re only trying to trace Mr Dean. Don’t you want to yourself?’

  ‘Yes. Well.’ Grudgingly she stepped aside and they went into the dark passage. Pushing open a door, she showed them into an equally dark front room, any light that might have filtered through being kept at bay by dirty net curtains.

  Noting the greasy chairs, Webb elected to remain standing. ‘Can you think of any reason why he went off like that?’

  She sniffed. ‘Well, he had a ding-dong fight with his ladyfriend. I could hear them in the kitchen, shouting at each other.’

  ‘What lady was that, Mrs Tallow?’

  ‘Don’t know her name, do I? I mean, he didn’t introduce us.’ Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘It wasn’t the usual one, anyway.’

  ‘Do you know if he was expecting her?’ />
  ‘Yes, she rang the night before — he told me at supper. “Make us a pot of tea, will you?” he said. So I did, and they never touched it, neither of them. Found it stewed in the pot, and not even milk in the cups.’

  ‘Was he worried by the phone call?’

  ‘Didn’t seem to be. Couldn’t have known what was coming.’

  ‘What kind of lady was she?’

  ‘Posh. Well-spoken. Too good for the likes of him. Lovely fur jacket she had.’

  Webb avoided Jackson’s eye. ‘What time did she get here?’

  ‘Bit after four. Only stayed about ten minutes.’

  ‘Did they leave together?’

  ‘Bless you, no. She slammed out the door and he slammed upstairs. And that was the last I saw of him. I got the four-forty as usual — ’

  Webb leaned forward. ‘You went out?’

  ‘Like I said. Every Wednesday, week in and week out. I go to Vi’s for tea, then on to Bingo.’

  ‘Where do you catch the bus, Mrs Tallow?’

  ‘Corner of Dick Lane. The number forty-seven.’

  ‘So you left the house soon after she did?’

  ‘Couldn’t have been more than five minutes. I left his supper for him like I always did, but when I got back it was still in the oven and he’d gone. Waste of good food, I call it.’

  ‘And he’d taken all his things with him?’

  ‘Every last tittle.’

  ‘May we see his room?’

  ‘What’s the point? There’s nothing in it.’

  And she was right. She stood in the doorway with folded arms as they turned drawers upside down and felt along the top of the wardrobe.

  ‘Satisfied?’ she asked with a sniff.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Tallow. An officer will be round shortly to lift any fingerprints. He’ll try not to disturb you. And of course if Mr Dean should contact you, or you remember anything that might be useful, please ring us at the station.’

  He wasn’t hopeful. Mrs Tallow and her kind didn’t ‘hold’ with the police.

  ‘How about that, then?’ Jackson said with satisfaction as they got into the car. ‘Stroke of luck, wasn’t it? Bet he regrets leaving a forwarding address!’