David Webb 2 - A Necessary End

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Joanna — ’ she began desperately.

  ‘Yes. She needs a stable home with two loving parents. Which,’ he added bitterly, ‘is something my children never had.’ Nancy’d been right there. And though, heaven knew, she was rarely available, it was still to her rather than himself that Henry had turned with his problem. Now even that prop had gone, and he remembered Rose’s disproportionate grief. How little he knew his son and daughter.

  He said, ‘I wish I didn’t feel so alone,’ and saw the pain in her face. God, what a mess he’d made of everything.

  ‘Goodbye, Heather,’ he added, and before she could accompany him to the door, went quickly from the room and let himself out of the house.

  *

  It had started to snow, and, as if on cue, the central heating at the police station had broken down. Webb sat at his desk in his overcoat, sifting through reports sent by the Hampstead police and rubbing his hands for warmth.

  ‘Bloody marvellous, isn’t it?’ he said to Crombie. ‘The heat belts out full blast as long as the weather’s mild, and it’s like a greenhouse in here. But the minute we really need it, the damn thing goes off. Sod’s law, I suppose.’

  ‘Anything of interest there?’

  ‘No. She had a wide circle of friends, all of whom seemed fond of her. Quite a contrast to the impression we formed at Frecklemarsh.’

  ‘Any men among them?’

  ‘Plenty, though all claiming to be platonic. I’m inclined to go along with that. I’d say Nancy was a woman who preferred men’s company to women’s, without any hint of sex coming into it. She was a strong character, self-willed, efficient, independent.’

  Crombie grinned. ‘If you’re about to suggest those are male characteristics, watch it, or you’ll be accused of chauvinism.’

  ‘What I’m getting at is that I doubt if her killing had a sexual motive.’

  ‘Still think it was linked with her character?’

  ‘Yes. It could have been business rivalry, or something crooked she discovered and refused to keep quiet about. She wouldn’t stand for anything shady.’

  ‘Which would suggest a London killer stalking her back here?’

  ‘Perhaps. God, I wish we could catch up with Dean — he’s delaying the whole shooting-match. Once we can either nail him or clear him, we’ll have more to go on. He can’t have disappeared into thin air.’

  ‘Unless,’ Crombie said slowly, ‘he’s been murdered, too.’

  ‘God Almighty! I must say, Alan, you’ve a knack for cheering people up.’

  ‘Well, he could have been. Perhaps Nancy told him whatever it was she was on to.’

  ‘You know something? I wish to hell you’d never said that. Now we’ll have to start a full-scale search — further into Chedbury Woods and thereafter in ever-increasing circles. There aren’t any unidentified bodies lying conveniently in the mortuary, are there?’

  ‘Not that I’ve heard, though I’ll check.’

  ‘Well, get on to the Support Group. At least it’ll give us a new direction to work in.’ He pushed his chair back, stuck his hands in his pockets and stood for a moment staring out of the window. A sheet of ice lay on the forecourt pond and large, fluffy flakes drifted steadily down, covering path and grass. Out in the road, traffic churned the whiteness to dirty slush, and the County Court opposite was veiled behind a dancing crystal curtain.

  With a sigh, Webb turned up his coat collar. ‘“Once more unto the breach.” At least it’ll be warmer out there!’

  ‘I do wish the police would make a move,’ Mary Cudlip said, passing a dinner plate down the table. ‘It’s like the sword of Damocles hanging over us. Imagine how Oliver must feel. Ivor saw him in the village today, and he looked dreadful.’

  Heather held her breath. Had Joey mentioned Oliver’s visit to Peter? Apparently not. Peter said idly, ‘I wonder if they suspect him?’

  Mary made a sound of distress, but Ivor Cudlip pushed out his lower lip reflectively. ‘First choice, the husband, isn’t it? They’ll be watching him pretty carefully.’

  The cadences of his native Wales still lingered in his voice. He was a big, good-looking man in his sixties, silver-haired and red-faced, with bushy eyebrows and a genial smile. ‘Can’t be easy for him.’

  ‘Especially,’ put in Peter, ‘since it’s the second time it’s happened.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘It looks, my love, as though you had a lucky escape, all those years ago!’

  Heather’s face flamed and Mary said stiffly, ‘That’s not funny, Peter. The fact that Oliver’s had two tragedies is no laughing matter.’

  ‘Provided they were tragedies, and not convenient “accidents”.’

  ‘That’s enough, boy. Give it a rest, will you? Oliver’s our friend.’

  Peter emptied his glass. ‘No offence. I didn’t realize everyone was so touchy.’

  Mary thought: Oh dear, why did Ivor take him on? For all his qualifications, he’s no good with people. He rubs everyone the wrong way — and he’s so offhand with his wife. Though they hadn’t known of Heather and Oliver’s romance — over before they came to Frecklemarsh — it would have made no difference. It was all in the past and Ivor would have foreseen no problems. Nor should there be any, Mary assured herself uneasily. All the same, Oliver was in a vulnerable state to meet an old love, and Heather was clearly on edge.

  Ivor was saying, ‘That girl of yours ready for college, then?’

  ‘Raring to go. I just hope she knows what she’s in for. Work, work, and more work, and precious few thanks at the end of it.’

  Heather said quickly, ‘To hear Peter talk, you’d never guess medicine’s his whole life. Joey has the same single-mindedness.’

  ‘It’s a tribute to you, boy, that she wants to follow in your footsteps. I admit I was disappointed, when neither of ours showed interest.’ Dr Cudlip glanced at the sideboard, where two graduation photographs were displayed. ‘Still, they’re doing well in their own fields. I’ve nothing to complain of.’

  Heather thought: I wonder what he’s doing now? Probably greeting people arriving for dinner and trying to ignore their curious glances. Still, the fact that the restaurant was always full would conceal the presence of sensation-seekers.

  Did the police suspect Oliver? Ought she to tell that Chief Inspector he was with her? But they might not believe her — think she was trying to shield him.

  Oh God, Ivor was filling Peter’s glass again. Please don’t let him get drunk. The Cudlips had overlooked one occasion but another might give them pause. It had been hard enough covering for him in Ripon; in a place this size, there was no room for secrets. And she couldn’t bear it if they had to leave Frecklemarsh.

  The unconscious thought prodded consciousness, and she paused to consider it. After Oliver’s visit that morning, to move would surely be the wisest course.

  She started, aware that Mary was addressing her. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘Are you free tomorrow, dear? There’s a whist drive in the church hall; it would be a chance for you to meet people.’

  ‘It’s kind of you, Mary, but I’m afraid I can’t. I’m having tea with Peter’s mother.’

  ‘Another time, then. How is she, by the way? I know you were concerned about her.’

  It was Peter who answered. ‘She feels the cold, but won’t use the central heating. Says it’s extravagant, for God’s sake. Spends her time crouching over one bar of the electric fire, and thinks she’s economizing. I’ve told her if she goes on like that, the economies will be in vain, because she won’t be here to enjoy them. We’ve asked her to move in with us, but she won’t hear of it. Independent as they come. So we’ll just have to go on worrying, till the warmer weather comes.’

  ‘It is a problem, I know. There are elderly people here who live the same way. Sooner or later, someone sends for Ivor, but it’s often too late.’

  Heather’s attention slipped away again. Ivor said he’d looked dreadful. That must have been just after he’d left
her. ‘I wish I didn’t feel so alone.’ God, hadn’t he hurt her enough? If they’d kept in touch over the years, the memories might have washed harmlessly away. Instead, their meeting at New Year was the first since he’d broken their engagement. She’d loved him then and she accepted despairingly that she still did. But now she had Peter and Joey dependent on her. She couldn’t treat them as Oliver had her.

  The evening came to an end. The snow had frozen where it lay, crunching under their feet as they walked home. In a high, clear sky, a handful of stars glittered coldly.

  ‘At least Mother saved you from a whist drive!’ Peter commented with a laugh. ‘My God, life in the fast lane!’

  ‘It was kind of Mary to invite me.’

  ‘But you’d have to be pretty desperate to go.’

  But I am desperate, she thought in anguish. And what am I expected to do, while you’re out on calls or snoring in a chair? She felt trapped, imprisoned in a cage of ice. And Joey was going away. Life shouldn’t come to a standstill at forty-five. What did the agony aunts advise — join a club? Here, in Frecklemarsh? A whist club, perhaps! Angry tears came to her eyes and she blinked them away.

  The hall light was on, that in the sitting-room off. Joey had gone to bed.

  Leaving Peter to lock up, Heather went upstairs. In a sheath of misery she washed, undressed, brushed her hair. Peter climbed into bed beside her, with the usual creaking of springs.

  ‘‘Night, love.’ He kissed her cheek, turned over, and was immediately asleep.

  Heather lay on her back, silent tears streaming down her face. In his way, because he was weak, he needed her. But it was a selfish, one-way kind of need. He’d never tried to understand her, discover her interests, ask her opinion. She was his wife and she supposed he loved her, but she was allowed no say in their lives. The return to Frecklemarsh was a case in point. She’d tried to dissuade him, and he’d laughed at her. Well, he’d brought it on himself.

  The last phrase sounded an alarm, alerting her to the way her mind was working. But why not? she thought, with heady defiance. If by some miracle Oliver loved her, she couldn’t let him go a second time. That was too much to ask. And since by becoming his lover she’d be happier, more complete, then Peter and Joey would benefit too. It was cockeyed reasoning, but she desperately needed to believe it.

  She thought back to the morning’s meeting. That lie about her marriage would keep him away unless she rescinded it. Very well, she would do so. She had known at the time it was her lifeline. Now, quite deliberately, she prepared to jettison it. She would sink or swim with Oliver.

  CHAPTER 12

  Faith came quickly into the dining-room. ‘Is it in? The announcement?’

  Roger looked up. ‘Yes, it’s in.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure I believed it myself, till I saw it in The Times.’

  She took the paper from him and read the paragraph. ‘Mr Justice Beresford. It sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Well done, my dear. You’ve worked hard for this.’

  She sat down and poured some orange juice. ‘I shall enjoy being Lady Beresford.’

  Sir Roger and Lady Beresford. He remembered, years ago, telling Avis of his ambition. ‘Don’t get pompous, will you, when you’re a judge?’ she’d said. ‘If you do, I shall come to court and make faces at you!’ Inconceivable, then, to have imagined life without her. Inconceivable now …

  The windows rattled in a gust of wind. ‘I hope the weather improves,’ Faith commented. ‘I promised to help Phyllis exercise her hunters.’ She opened her own newspaper, unaware of her husband’s distraction. ‘They’re still running that beastly murder, I see. Thank God no one here knows we’re connected with it.’

  … Mr Justice Beresford. Perhaps, one day, Lord Justice …

  ‘Oliver could have done it, you know … Roger!’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear, what did you say?’

  ‘I said Oliver could have done it.’

  He lowered The Times, narrowly missing the marmalade. ‘Done what, dear?’

  ‘Killed her, of course.’

  He stared at her, then laughed uncertainly.

  ‘I’m quite serious. There was a most unpleasant atmosphere between them, we remarked on it at the time.’

  ‘But it couldn’t possibly be Oliver. Whatever — ’

  ‘Well, who else, for heaven’s sake? Who else could want her out of the way?’

  ‘If you ask me, it was one of those senseless killings which are never solved. A drunk — ’

  ‘At four-thirty in the afternoon?’

  ‘My love, there are people who are drunk all day. Or perhaps a mugger — ’

  ‘No, Roger. I’m sorry, but I don’t agree. Firstly, a drunk or mugger would have robbed her, and secondly he’d have left her where she was — presumably somewhere in Shillingham, since she left her car there. But this killer took her five miles by car — there was no other way — and dumped her. Why?’

  ‘I’d no idea you’d taken so much interest in it.’

  ‘I’ve no option — it’s thrust at me every time I read a paper or turn on the news. I just wish they’d bury poor Nancy, and the case with her, and let the rest of us get on with our lives.’

  Roger said drily, ‘I wasn’t aware it inconvenienced you.’

  ‘It’s hanging over all of us, and I resent it. If you remember, I didn’t want to trail over there in the first place. If I’d known this would happen, wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me. It’s all right for you; murders are part of your day’s work, but I find it most distasteful.’

  ‘I’m sorry, dear.’

  ‘Well, I shall just stop reading the papers till it’s all over.’

  ‘That would be best, if it upsets you.’ Roger folded his napkin and got to his feet. ‘Have a good day, dear, and be careful with the horses. It’s slippery underfoot.’

  She raised her cool cheek for his kiss. ‘Drinks with the Leslies at seven, remember.’

  At the door he looked back, but she’d already returned to her newspaper. So much for her resolve, he thought with a smile as, shrugging into his coat, he left the house for the eight-forty.

  *

  ‘Oliver?’

  ‘Heather! What is it? Is something wrong?’

  He heard the smile in her voice. ‘Why should anything be wrong?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.’

  ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘You’ve changed your mind?’

  She said hurriedly, ‘We can’t talk over the phone. Could you meet me this afternoon? A cup of tea somewhere?’

  ‘Of course. Where?’

  ‘How about the Copper Kettle in Heatherton? It’s across the square from Faversham’s.’

  ‘I’ll find it. About three-thirty?’

  ‘That’ll be fine.’

  She replaced the receiver and stood for a moment staring unseeingly across the road. There was no going back now. In six and a half hours she would have to explain, try to persuade him of her reasoning. Please let him understand.

  *

  The communication from Headquarters was on his desk when Webb arrived that morning. He tore it open and read it, still standing.

  ‘I knew it!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘It’s the info from British Telecom. A call was made from Gables Lodge to Hampstead at nineteen forty-three on Tuesday the third of January. Duration eight minutes. I’m willing to bet that’s what brought Nancy back.’

  Crombie nodded. ‘So you were right. What’s the next move?’

  ‘Find out who made it. My money’s on Rose. At very least, it should tie up some loose ends. We’re into the second week now — time we made a bit of progress.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind making progress there myself! How about me going to see Miss Pendrick?’

  Webb snorted. ‘She’d eat you for breakfast! No, that young lady needs special handling, and I reckon I’m the one to do it.’

  Ignoring Crombie’s ribald comment, Webb lifted his phone
. ‘Ken? We’ve got the gen on the phone call. Time for some more questions.’

  The sunshine was already melting the snow as they drove through the country lanes. The sky was clear, and above the fields rooks circled and called, jagged black outlines against the blue. Briefly, Webb longed for his sketch-pad, but that would have to wait.

  ‘Rose first?’ Jackson queried, as they came down into Frecklemarsh.

  ‘Yes, Rose first, if she’s available. If not, we’ll start with one of the others, but I don’t want her getting wind of it.’

  ‘She’s already said it wasn’t her.’

  ‘I don’t believe her, but I could be wrong. There’s plenty of choice: Pendrick, the boy, Mr or Mrs Beresford — even the housekeeper. Basically they’re all possibilities.’

  ‘The time may tie it down. Pendrick and his son could have been at the hotel.’

  The Lodge gates were open, and Jackson turned into them. The church clock was striking ten. Its measured chimes reached them clearly over the cold, still air.

  ‘Bet Her Ladyship’s still in bed!’ Jackson said with a grin.

  But he was wrong. Rose herself flung open the door, but her smile faded when she saw who it was. ‘Oh — I was expecting someone else.’

  ‘Sorry about that, miss. Can you spare us a minute?’

  ‘Again? For heaven’s sake, I’ve told you all I know.’ There was unease beneath the assumed impatience.

  ‘That’s what we’d like to check, miss.’

  ‘Very well. Come in, then.’ She turned from the door, leaving Jackson to close it behind them. The sound of a record-player reached them from upstairs. Something Henry hadn’t yet flogged, apparently.

  The two policemen followed Rose to the sitting-room. She walked to the fireplace and turned, one arm casually along the mantelpiece. It was a studiedly insolent pose, implying she could only spare them a minute.

  ‘It’s about that phone call,’ Webb said stolidly.

  Her eyes flickered and she straightened. ‘What phone call?’

  ‘The one you made to your stepmother.’

  Rose stared at him, and her chin lifted fractionally. ‘But I told you, Chief Inspector; I didn’t make one.’