by Fay Sampson
They told their story to the lanky sergeant. He seemed as interested in Lewis’s reason for visiting his former museum as in his encounter with the Davisons.
“And you’ve no idea what was in those boxes he took away?”
“That side of the room was mostly pottery. A few remains from burial urns. Shells and bones from middens that show what people ate in those days,” Jenny recalled.
“The really interesting stuff was on the other wall,” Aidan said. “Such as it was. Bits of weapons, jewellery, metalwork.”
“But it’s not really that we came to tell you about,” Jenny broke in. “It was… I don’t know… the hatred. He looked at me as though he really loathed me.” She looked over her shoulder. PC Watkins was showing Melangell a big map hung on the wall, with pins to mark where key things had happened.
“There’s the waterfall!” Melangell cried. “Our waterfall.”
Jenny lowered her voice to DS Lincoln. “As if he wanted to kill me.”
The sergeant’s eyes were suddenly grave as he looked down at her. “I warned you to be careful. We weren’t sure at the time who might be in the frame. At least, if it’s Caradoc Lewis, he’s not inside this house. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Aidan said. “We’ll meander back. Spend the night at Warwick, perhaps.”
“That’s probably best. But if you have any cause for concern, ring the police straight away.”
A prickle of unease caught Jenny as they walked back to the house. Should Aidan have told anyone they were going to Warwick – even the police?
“Not particularly reassuring, was it?” he said.
“It’s my fault. If only I could remember what’s been tantalizing me at the back of my mind. About Tuesday. Around the time of the murder, when I was upstairs, and you and Melangell were out at the waterfall. Sometimes I think I’ve got it, but just as I start to remember it, it slips away.”
“Something about Caradoc Lewis?”
“I don’t see how it could be.”
Melangell had run ahead. They caught up with her in the foyer. She was talking to Sian, who had her arms full of a pile of bed linen.
“And they had arrows thousands of years old. And you could see the bones of the animals they shot. Deer and hares. And then that Caradoc man came, and the man in the museum was scared of him. He took some boxes, even though the other man told him not to.”
“Steady on!” laughed Sian. “You’ve lost me. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jenny, coming through the front door with Aidan, was about to explain.
A voice interrupted them. “Would you like to learn to shoot arrows like that?”
The question came from the other side of the foyer, through the door to the lounge. Lorna stood there, not smiling like Sian, but looking seriously at Melangell.
A protest rose in Jenny’s throat. It was still too close. Thaddaeus, killed by one those red-and-white fletched arrows from the sports shed. One of the arrows she herself might have shot. Only three days ago.
With shame she remembered her own brash return to the archery butts. Wanting to prove to a sceptical Inspector Denbigh that she was not yet so physically weak that she couldn’t draw a bow. Wanting to show that Lorna was not the only archer on whom suspicion might fall.
Before she could find the words to prevent it, Melangell had swung round with shining eyes.
“Could I?” Then eagerly to Aidan: “Can I, Daddy? Please!”
“All right. I suppose so.”
“We can find you a bow with a light draw weight,” Sian said. “We’ve got all sorts.”
Jenny questioned Aidan with her eyes. But he seemed merely amused at the idea.
I’m being oversensitive, she thought. And tired. And in pain. Thaddaeus was Lorna’s uncle, after all. If it’s all right with her, why should I object?
It was only a few steps to the lift. Soon she would be upstairs. All she needed now was a good rest and the world would be all right again.
No. There was more than sleep could cure. There were darker things she had to fear.
Aidan came with her, attentive, concerned.
He closed the bedroom door behind them. She turned, and buried herself in his arms.
“I’m frightened.”
He held her close. “It’s OK. He can be a very unpleasant man, but he’s not here now. You don’t have to see him ever again. We’re heading for home tomorrow.”
“I didn’t mean just Caradoc Lewis.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “It’s what he showed me when he looked as though he wanted to kill me. Aidan, I’m afraid of dying. I’ve tried not to be, but I am.”
She felt the little start he gave. He had not expected this. She had tried so hard to go serenely towards the death the oncologist had showed her was imminent. With faith. Making it as easy as she could for Aidan and Melangell. They must not know that it was a bereavement for her as well, to know that she was losing them both, very soon.
Is this a betrayal of my faith, to think that I won’t still be with them, unseen?
But the blackness came over her that would no longer let her be strong for those she loved.
Aidan stroked her back, her hair. “Ssh. You’ve been fantastic. I couldn’t have been as brave as you have. But it’s OK to let go and say how you feel. It’s only to be expected. Anyone would be scared of dying. It’s absolutely normal. Would you like us to pray about it?”
She sniffed back tears. “I’m not sure I can. I really wish I could have gone into the church today. I know I should be able to pray anywhere, but it feels like a special place. In the apse, beside her grave. There was… peace. He’s even taken that away from me.”
He kissed her head. “It may be open again by now. We didn’t stop and look, did we? Lie down and rest, and perhaps we’ll go and see later. They don’t lock it up till six.”
She allowed him to lead her to the bed and take off her shoes. He found her tablets for her, then tucked her under the duvet and held her hand. His voice came low, faltering.
“Dear Lord, you know better than any of us how Jenny feels. Give her the peace and strength she needs. Beyond loss, beyond pain, take her in your loving arms and hold her.”
She closed her eyes. Blessed sleep was drifting over her. At last her overstrained body was beginning to relax. Reality was slipping away from her. The frightening images of the day were changing into insubstantial dreams.
Suddenly she jolted awake. Her head snapped up from the pillow. Aidan rose in alarm.
“What’s wrong? Is the pain worse? Shall I call someone?”
“No. It’s not that. Aidan, I’ve remembered. What it was that’s been bothering me since that day. I didn’t see something. I heard it.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“The day of the murder. I’d come up here to rest after lunch. I lay down on the bed, like this, and started to drift off to sleep. It must have been round about two. And then just now, as I was falling asleep, I dreamed I heard it again. But I don’t think it was a dream. I was remembering what I’d heard before.”
“What? What could you have heard up here? Did Thaddaeus cry out?”
“No. It was inside the house. Running footsteps in the corridor outside this room. And a door shutting. Aidan, the Ewarts were out. The other rooms on this floor were empty. It could only have been the room at the end of the corridor.” She looked up, her eyes widening. “Lorna’s room.”
He looked back at her, puzzled. The import of what she had heard had still not dawned on him.
“Don’t you see? It was soon after two. About the time Thaddaeus died. So when I saw her from the balcony later, she wasn’t coming back from the waterfall as I thought. She must have been here nearly an hour before.”
His mind was racing now to catch up with hers. “So she could have killed him and come running upstairs. Yes, that makes sense. If she had blood on her clothes… Jenny! You remember I told you that when she passed u
s, running away from the waterfall, her clothes were dishevelled. She had on black jeans and a white shirt. Some of the buttons were torn and it was hanging open. She looked too upset to care. Do you remember what she was wearing when you saw her from the balcony, around twenty to three?”
“Yes.” Jenny frowned. “Not trousers. A black skirt and a grey sweater, I think.”
“Exactly what she was wearing when she and Euan came and saw the body. You’re right. She’d already been back long enough to change when you saw her after your sleep.”
“Long enough to kill her uncle.” Jenny stared at the rumpled duvet. “I didn’t want to believe it. Even when they arrested her. I felt sorry for her. That she was a victim, too.”
“This turns everything on its head. We have to tell Denbigh.”
“He isn’t here.”
“Well, Sergeant Lincoln. He’ll get through to him…” Aidan drew a whistling breath of shock. “And meanwhile, Lorna is on the archery butts with Melangell.” He made for the door.
Jenny swung her legs out of bed. “She wouldn’t do anything to her, would she? Melangell’s got nothing to do with this. If it’s true, Lorna wouldn’t want to draw attention to herself.”
But she was scared as never before.
Aidan was already halfway down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-nine
AIDAN SHOT PAST a startled Sian.
“Where’s Lorna? Is Melangell with her? Are they on the archery butts?”
“Yes. You were here when she offered to teach Melangell. What’s wrong?”
“Only that Jenny’s remembered something that may mean Lorna is the murderer.”
He was out of the French windows now and haring across the patio to the bank of bushes that separated the lawn from the butts. He carried in his mind the image of the shock in Sian’s face.
He burst out of the shrubbery by the path that brought him almost to the sports equipment hut. He was willing the scene he longed to see. The two of them on the green. The older girl leaning over the younger one, black wavy hair brushing the mop of light brown curls. The practised archer showing a beginner how to hold and draw the bow. Friendly, innocent.
Why should Lorna see Melangell as a threat?
It would be all right. It had to be.
The archery range was empty. The hut had been opened, but no one was about.
With thudding heart, he raced over to check the shed. Bows, croquet mallets, tennis racquets. The equipment Sian and Thaddaeus had provided for their guests. Even the red-and-white fletched arrows. He shuddered.
Had they taken anything? He couldn’t tell.
He had told himself that Melangell’s shots might have gone wildly astray, and that the girls were in the shrubbery near the butts, retrieving them.
“Melangell!” he called, running into the bushes nearest the target.
The laurel leaves dripped from a recent shower. He pushed through the low branches. Already the silence told him what he feared. There was no one here.
He looked wildly back towards the house. Had Sian been lying? Did she know where Lorna really was?
He felt ill with panic. His racing brain would give him no sensible information about what to do next.
Like a man overboard clutching at a lifebuoy, he thought suddenly of the police incident room, with its detectives and uniformed officers still collecting information. Detective Sergeant Lincoln.
He would have preferred the more experienced, if mournful, Chief Inspector Denbigh. But it could not be helped. Anything to share the nightmare with other people, men and women who dealt with emergencies day in, day out. Officers trained to be calm and decisive. He knew he was neither.
He pounded up the step to the first in the line of sheds. He burst into the incident room without bothering to knock.
PC Watkins sprang to her feet. Others, whose names he did not know, turned and stared. DS Lincoln, his tall form outlined against a whiteboard, turned his head and then came hurrying across to meet him.
“Where’s the fire? Sorry. Bad joke, under the circumstances.”
“It’s Melangell,” Aidan panted. “We left her with Lorna Brown while I took Jenny upstairs. Lorna offered to show her how to use a bow and arrow. They’ve gone! And Jenny remembered something she’s been trying to recall for days. She didn’t see Lorna coming back from the waterfall. She’d already been back more than half an hour. She was here when Thaddaeus was stabbed.”
“Sit down,” ordered Lincoln, pulling out a desk chair. “Now, let’s get this straight. Jenny thinks Lorna may have killed her uncle. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes! Jenny remembers hearing someone running along the upstairs corridor, around two. A door shutting. It could only have been Lorna’s bedroom. And we discovered that the clothes Jenny saw her in later were not the same as the ones she was wearing when Melangell and I saw her. So she wasn’t just coming back from the waterfall, as Jenny thought. She’d been back here easily long enough to change. And to kill Thaddaeus. And now Melangell’s missing. With Lorna.”
“Steady. There’s probably a simple explanation. They changed their minds about archery and went off to do something else.”
But Aidan read the alarm in the sergeant’s eyes.
“Why? Why Melangell? We thought Jenny might be in danger, if Thaddaeus’s killer thought she’d seen something. Though it was really hearing something. But why should Melangell be a threat to her?”
“Unless she’s getting at the two of you through the kid. But it hardly makes sense. If you’re right, she was getting away with it. We hadn’t taken her off the suspect list, but we’d swung round to looking elsewhere. Especially since the fire.”
“Caradoc Lewis?” Aidan groaned. “That was our fault. We came straight over to tell you about him when we got back. We led you up the garden path. We ought never, for a moment, have left Melangell with her.” He beat his fist on the nearest desk.
The policeman’s hand descended on his shoulder. “Get a grip, man. Like we said, there’s no good reason why Lorna should harm Melangell. Just the opposite. She’ll want to keep her slate clean so we don’t arrest her again.”
All the same, he turned decisively to the listening officers. “Right, all of you! Get this place searched for Lorna Brown and the girl. Inside and out. Watkins, the house. You two, sheds, bushes. Parkinson, check if anyone in the cottages has seen them leaving. Go!”
“What can I do?”
“I’m ringing the chief inspector. Then, unless someone finds them pretty quick, I’m driving over to confront Caradoc Lewis. You saw those two together yesterday. Him and the girl. I thought at the time it was an odd combination. They may be there.”
Aidan swallowed the lump that was choking him, at the thought of those eyes burning in that cadaverous face.
He followed the fast-moving officers out of the incident room. As the others scattered, Aidan saw Jenny and Sian coming across the grass towards him.
The women stopped in shock. Then Jenny ran forward. He saw the tragedy written on her thin face.
“Aidan! What’s going on? Where is she?”
He put his arms around her, gently. The newly growing hair made her head look heartbreakingly vulnerable. “They’re taking the place apart until they find her.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “Is it because of me? Does Lorna know I heard her? Is that why she’s taken Melangell?”
“We don’t know that she has. It may be something perfectly innocent.”
But that was not what he thought.
Lincoln was trying to phone his inspector. “Damn!” he said, thrusting the mobile back into his pocket. “I keep forgetting you can’t get a signal out here.”
He dived back into the incident room and grabbed one of the landlines.
Waves of sickness shook Aidan. It was foolish to think that the world-weary presence of Chief Inspector Denbigh could put things right, but it would be some comfort.
“I’ll rouse Josef,” Sian voluntee
red. “We’ll help you search the grounds. They can’t be far.”
Images haunted Aidan’s imagination. Those lily ponds, screened by flowering shrubs. A child’s body, face down in the water.
Jenny’s face looked grey with exhaustion and terror. He wanted to tell her to go and lie down, but he knew it was useless. She could no more rest until Melangell was found than he could. She seemed bewildered, as though she should not think where to begin to search.
“PC Watkins is doing the house,” he said. “That nice WPC who was first on the scene when Thaddaeus was killed. Help her.”
He watched her hurry indoors. For a moment he was tempted to follow her. What might she find in Lorna’s room? Or the protective Sian’s? Even Josef’s? But Lincoln was heading for Caradoc Lewis’s house further up the valley. Remembering that explosive meeting with him this morning, Aidan knew that he had to be there.
He started to run after the detective sergeant as Lincoln strode towards the car park. But the detective’s car drove off before Aidan could reach it. He jumped into his own and followed.
To his surprise, Lincoln turned left towards the church, not right towards the head of the valley.
A rather younger version of DS Lincoln was talking urgently to a man outside the cottage in front of the church. He was tall, big-boned, with sandy hair paler than Aidan’s. From his sports jacket and brown trousers, Aidan guessed he must be a detective constable.
Even as Lincoln stopped his car, Freda Rawlinson and Mother Joan came from the church and were beckoned over. Aidan was not near enough to hear what they said, but he saw them shake their heads. Melangell and Lorna must not have been seen coming this way.
Did Lorna have a car? Would she use Thaddaeus’s? How far might they have got if they had sped past here unseen?
“Parkinson!” DS Lincoln called, sharply. “I take it there’s nothing doing here?”
“No, sir. Nobody’s seen them.”
“I want you to come with me. DCI Denbigh is on his way, but I’m heading out for Caradoc Lewis’s patch. I’ve a hunch that’s where they are.”
“I hope to God nothing’s happened to the kid.” The constable’s eyes went past his sergeant and met Aidan’s.
