Forgotten Voices

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘Did she do it,’ Yolanda whispered.

  Vera turned with a puzzled look on her face. ‘Of course I did, my dear,’ she said. ‘I followed him out and talked to him, tried to get him to understand but he just laughed. What else could I do?’

  FORTY-FIVE

  Dan Marsden was playing with his little girls in the garden when Kendall and Mac arrived. Holly Marsden showed them through and asked if they’d like anything to drink.

  Kendall declined for both of them and went to talk to Dan in the garden while Mac remained with Holly.

  ‘It’s nice to see some sun,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Is something wrong? Why do you want to talk to Dan?’

  ‘How did the two of you meet?’

  ‘Why? I mean … I was doing youth work. We met up at a conference.’

  ‘You knew he’d been engaged before?’

  ‘Of course. What’s all this about?’

  ‘Did you know Ellen Tailor?’

  ‘Of course. She was a lovely woman. Helped out at the youth group the Marsdens run.’

  The Marsdens, Mac thought. As though she was somehow separate from the rest of the family. ‘Did you know that she and Dan were seeing one another? Outside of work, I mean.’

  Holly looked incredulous. ‘That’s a stupid accusation,’ she said coldly. ‘You can’t come into my home and make accusations like that about my husband.’

  ‘Do you know a lady called Vera Courtney?’ Mac asked, changing tack.

  ‘Slightly, she’s a friend of Celia’s but—’

  ‘We’ve just arrested her for the murder of William Trent,’ Mac said. ‘Mrs Marsden, on the day Ellen Tailor was killed, did your husband seem upset in any way?’

  ‘What? Ellen, Vera, I don’t understand. Dan heard about Ellen and was very upset. We all were. But what—’

  Kendall came back into the kitchen accompanied by Dan Marsden. ‘I’ve got to go out for a while,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Won’t be long? Dan, what is going on here?’

  ‘We’d just like your husband to answer a few questions,’ Kendall said. ‘After you, Mr Marsden.’

  FORTY-SIX

  Lydia de Freitas was on Rina’s doorstep early before the rest of the household had got up.

  ‘Have you heard? They’ve arrested Dan Marsden,’ she said dropping the morning paper on Rina’s kitchen table.

  ‘I think he’s just at what they used to call the helping with enquiries stage,’ Rina argued.

  ‘Well … One thing leads to another, doesn’t it? And Vera. Surely you’ve heard about Vera Courtney. I mean, Rina. She killed him. She killed Trent.’

  ‘I know,’ Rina said sadly. ‘I suspected she might have done.’

  ‘And you set Mac on her? Oh, Rina. Is that what you were so upset about yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘Lydia, I still don’t feel good about it.’

  ‘Rina, if she did it and you knew, what else could you do?’

  What indeed. ‘It was the missing documents,’ Rina said. ‘That’s what upset Vera enough to kill him, I think and I believe maybe Ellen facilitated that. Though I’m sure she meant no harm.’

  ‘Does Vera know Ellen did that? What a mess.’

  Both women fell silent, troubled by it all.

  ‘I’d better start getting breakfast,’ Rina said. ‘They’ll be waking up.’

  ‘I’ll make us some tea,’ Lydia said. ‘Do you think Dan Marsden did it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Lydia, I really don’t.’ She picked up the paper Lydia had brought in and skimmed the article. Yesterday afternoon, she was told, Daniel Marsden, son of prominent businessman and philanthropist Christopher Marsden, voluntarily appeared at Exeter police headquarters in connection with the enquiry into the murder of Ellen Tailor. There followed a resume of the case and of Dan Marsden’s charity work and the fact that Ellen had been a volunteer at one of Dan Marsden’s projects.

  There was nothing about Vera or William Trent Rina noticed, flicking through the paper, but the byline was an interesting one. The article had been written by Rina’s friend Andrew Barnes.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  In his dream he stood on the ridge looking down at Ellen’s cottage.

  He could see directly into the farmhouse from his vantage point. Not deeply, but a bit of the kitchen through the big window, a little of the range and the corner of the table. She had stood at the sink for a while now, her gaze mostly down and he guessed she was washing pots or perhaps peeling vegetables. Her blonde hair was tied back. He was too far away to see the grey strands that he knew were annoying her so much. She kept threatening to dye it and he had always told her that he liked it. And asking why she thought it mattered.

  ‘Oh, there’s a man speaking,’ she would say, as she shook her head fondly.

  From time to time she glanced up from her task, looking out of the window at the sunlight and flowers in the yard. She’d have the radio on; she usually did when working in the kitchen, especially when the house was empty. She liked the sense of being in company and she loved her music.

  Occasionally when she glanced up he got the feeling that she was staring straight out at him, but he knew that she wasn’t. Not really. That she was unlikely to have seen him. The grass was long and the leaves of the beech tree against which he sat swept down, obscuring him from view.

  He loved this spot. He loved the woman he watched now.

  But that was hardly the point, was it. That was not important now.

  As the afternoon crept on he knew that she’d be finished her tasks soon, would move away from the window, would get ready for the children coming home from school. He wondered if he should meet them off the bus, so that they didn’t go up to the house alone.

  Perhaps he would.

  But he could delay things no longer. He left the ridge and followed the winding rabbit path down, climbed the low fence that separated the yard from the field and crossed towards the house.

  Looking up, she saw him then. She smiled, her eyes lighting with genuine pleasure and welcome, filling him with so much happiness that he could hardly bear it.

  Then, slowly, reluctantly, he raised the shotgun. He could see her clearly, even glimpse the strands of grey in her soft blonde hair.

  He forced himself into wakefulness, struggling away from the dream, from the memory, from the shock of what he had done. Light streamed in through the window and in the distance he could hear the seabirds calling.

  Dan lay in his bed looking up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of Holly and the children drifting up the stairs. It had been the early hours of the morning when he’d returned home, anxious that there might be reporters in his street and not wanting to face his wife.

  ‘Where were you when. At this time, at that. What time did you leave the Breed Estate. That would give you plenty of time to—’

  Dan sat up and then got out of bed and walked to the window. His house was set well back from the road and he lifted the edge of the net curtain and peered down into the street. It had been empty the night before, but now a small gathering of men and women huddled together against the early morning chill.

  Holly had called his mother as soon as the police had left and she had come storming to the rescue – as she always did. Solicitor in tow, she had arrived at the police station only half an hour after Dan and she had not been amused.

  It had still been stressful, though, Dan thought. The repeated questions, the small variations, the demands that he should recall detail after detail and not just about Ellen but delving deep into his past. It had exhausted him.

  Dan listened to the voices of his children and the laughter of his wife as she replied to them. He was glad the girls were not yet old enough to go to school; there would be no need to run the journalistic gamut or to explain that today was an extra holiday and they would not be going in. He wondered what this would do to his relationship with Holly. She’d said so little to him when he’d got home – but then, his moth
er had accompanied him and Celia had done most of the talking.

  Dan recognized that he had cared a great deal for Ellen. Had enjoyed her company, had toyed with the idea of further involvement but not taken what would usually have been such an opportunity. Ellen had seen to that. She had been tempted, he knew, but she had drawn the line and not crossed it and Dan found he was unexpectedly grateful for that.

  ‘You love your wife,’ she had told him. ‘You love your children and I love mine. I won’t be the possible cause of a broken marriage and I certainly won’t hand Daphne or your mother ammunition. Daphne thinks she has enough of that already.’

  And she was right, Dan thought. He did love Holly and he did love his children. It had been a shock to realize the truth of that and a relief to discover that he was, in fact, capable of it. Dan would be the first to admit that most of his previous relationships had been shallow, surface. Engaged in because it was expected of him. This time, though, he had to make amends for something he really hadn’t done.

  Dan had once kissed Ellen Tailor. But there had been no second kiss.

  And the thing was, the absolutely most important thing was. Dan had not killed Ellen.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  ‘So, what now,’ Mac asked.

  ‘Now, we wait.’

  Mac nodded. ‘Come and sit down.’ Kendall had come to the boathouse that morning. The little outpost that was Frantham police station had been besieged by journalists looking for an angle and they didn’t mind which narrative that angle related to. Vera Courtney was now as much of a story as the questioning of Dan Marsden. Andy and Frank were doing their best to run the front desk as normal while a couple of Kendall’s uniforms kept the press in line … or the approximation of one. Mac had phoned a couple of times expecting to be told that they were having a quiet morning other than having journalists door-stepping them but to his surprise Andy told him there had been a constant stream of visitors.

  ‘Everyone and their dog wants to have a nose and ask daft questions,’ Andy told him. ‘I must have said, “I can’t possibly comment on an active case” about a hundred times.’

  ‘You think Dan Marsden will sue?’ Mac asked. It had been Celia’s last threat before she’d driven her son home.

  ‘I think the Marsdens will expect us to find a way to spin the story,’ Kendall said. ‘Explain to the press that Mr Marsden was helping us to flush out the real killer.’

  Mac laughed. ‘Police and local philanthropist in sting operation,’ he said.

  ‘I imagine they’ll express it with a little more grace, but yes. So, now we wait. I’ve got a watch on the airports and ferries, just in case he decides to leave from Europe. Eurostar too and on Daphne’s house. Either of them go anywhere and we’ll know. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ve got TOIL time due. Break the pattern and take it.’

  Mac smiled. It was a joke amongst police officers that there was only so much paid overtime to go around. Unpaid overtime was supposed to be accounted for by Time Off In Lieu but the joke was that no one ever got the opportunity to take all of it. He nodded. ‘I might just do that,’ he said. ‘But I want to know if he turns up.’

  Kendall nodded. ‘Nice view from here,’ he commented as he sipped his coffee.

  Late in the afternoon, Mac took the risk of walking into Frantham and visiting Rina. Miriam promised to meet him there and they planned a leisurely walk back around the headland.

  A few hardy souls still hung around outside the police station, but the doors had closed for the day and with no one but themselves to talk to, Mac figured they too would soon depart.

  Tim opened the door at Peverill Lodge and Joy shouted her hellos from the kitchen. ‘Matthew is teaching me to make goulash,’ she told him. ‘You’ll get the chance to pass judgement later.’

  Rina was in her little office working on some accounts. She put them aside when Mac came in. ‘Glad to see you,’ she said. ‘Now tell me what on earth is going on.’

  ‘You only want me for the gossip.’

  ‘Of course. What other reason would there be? You look tired, Mac.’

  ‘Long night,’ he said.

  ‘And is Dan Marsden guilty?’

  ‘Rina, he can’t tell you that,’ Tim scolded.

  ‘No, but he can give me a hint.’

  Mac leaned back in the fireside chair with the wooden arms – one of a pair that sat in Rina’s little room – and watched them both, relishing the smiles and the warmth. He wanted to sleep.

  ‘And what about poor Vera,’ Rina said, turning back to him. ‘That’s a sad business, Mac.’

  ‘You were right,’ he told her. ‘Trent had her documents and was planning on using them in his book. I don’t doubt he would have anonymized the account, but Vera had kept her father’s life and death secret for so long it must have felt like a cruel betrayal. She won’t countenance the idea that Ellen had anything to do with his having the journal and letters, but I’m sure she knows the truth of that really. I’m sure Ellen had the best of intentions … but.’

  ‘She was grieving,’ Rina said. ‘Ellen meant a great deal to her.’

  ‘She keeps referring to Ellen as a daughter. She feels she’s lost a child. We’ve applied for psychiatric assessments. I think she was already in a more fragile state than anyone realized and William Trent just pushed her over the edge. She says he laughed at her, but, Rina, she was already carrying the knife. She was already prepared.’

  ‘The knife was hers?’ Tim was surprised.

  ‘It was the weapon used to kill her father,’ Mac said. He explained about the tape recording, about the confession that had been sent to Nora, Vera’s mother, together with the weapon used to commit the murder.

  ‘What a bizarre thing to do,’ Rina said. ‘What a cruel thing to do. But she never reported it?’

  ‘Vera told us that by the time the package arrived the killer was dead. What would have been gained? Only pain for his family and a lot of questions no one wanted to answer.’

  They absorbed that in melancholy silence, then Rina asked, ‘So what now?’

  ‘Now, we wait.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For the killer to think he’s safe and come out of hiding,’ Mac said. ‘For him to want to leave the country and go home.’

  ‘You think Ray did it,’ Rina stated flatly.

  ‘With a little encouragement from Daphne, yes. Ray dropped off our radar five days ago and his mother has been making a number of bank transfers to a new account.’

  ‘So bringing in Dan Marsden?’

  ‘A feint,’ Mac said. ‘Though the Marsdens don’t know that yet. There’s going to be hell to pay when they do.’

  FORTY-NINE

  Ray Tailor held his nerve for three days during which time Dan Marsden was questioned twice.

  On the second day, Mac got a call from Diane Emmet in York. Daphne had been making threatening phone calls, she said. The kids were scared. She wanted money, she wanted custody.

  ‘I’ve called the local police and they’re supposed to be contacting DI Kendall. Mac, I’m taking the kids away for a few days. I’ve got friends in Scotland and they’re up for a visit, so—’

  ‘Sounds wise,’ Mac said. ‘Diane, I can promise you this will soon be over.’

  ‘I hope so. You have a pen? I’ll give you the address and phone number.’

  Mac jotted it down. ‘Diane, have you heard about William Trent. I don’t know if—’

  ‘Yeah, Yolanda called and told us. She told us an old woman who knew Mum had killed him. Vera something. I remember Ellen talking about her sometimes.’

  Talking about her sometimes, Mac thought. It seemed scant description for a woman who had loved Ellen so much. ‘Are the children upset?’

  ‘It’s just one more thing,’ Diane said. ‘But I think we’ll take William’s folder with us and I’ll get them to do some work on it. And after Christmas, they’ll be back in school, hopefully making friends and with a bit of luck able to start their lives ag
ain.’

  Hopefully, Mac thought as he hung up. He called Dave Kendall straight after and asked about Daphne and if the local police had contacted him about Diane.

  ‘She had the presence of mind to record the calls, after the first couple,’ Kendall said. ‘She’s got an answer phone with a recording facility. She told Daphne what she was going to do, but I don’t think Daphne cared. We’ll be bringing her in later this morning.’

  ‘Nothing on Ray yet?’

  ‘No, but we’ll be sure to release a statement about Daphne,’ he said.

  The next day brought news of Ray. Trying to get on to a flight for home.

  EPILOGUE

  ‘So, he confessed then?’

  ‘Eventually. He blames his mother and she blames him, but thankfully he admits to pulling the trigger so we have an answer to who actually killed Ellen even if Daphne is culpable.’

  ‘But to kill your daughter-in-law, just because … Mac it seems …’

  ‘Daphne felt she’d lost everything. Her sons, her land, even her grandchildren. They made it plain they didn’t like her very much, no matter how she tried to coerce them. And the final straw was when she realized Ellen had found something of value that Daphne believed should have been hers.’

  ‘The coins. Have the rest of them turned up, by the way?’

  Mac shook his head. ‘The house will be searched again, but chances are when Ellen realized what lengths Daphne would go to Ellen hid them somewhere.’

  Rina nodded. ‘What a mess,’ she said. ‘Families can be the greatest blessing, but when it goes wrong—’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is what evidence you had against Ray. What made you think—’

  Mac shrugged. ‘In part because there were no other suspects to speak of. The more we looked, the smaller the pool became. It had to be someone that Ellen would if not expect to see at least not panic when she did. Someone that belonged. She knew Ray was back in the country because he admitted to having called her. So there’d have been no surprise, no fear, even when she saw him with the gun. Ray regularly used to come over and shoot rabbits for her before he left. Ellen wasn’t a good shot and she didn’t own a gun. And there were rabbits in the freezer with a date on them – after Ray came back.’