by Holly Bell
‘If you would, Miss Cadabra.’
***
Simon Lawley was waiting in the small salon whence Moffat escorted the inspector, with assurances that refreshments would be served in 20 minutes.
Lawley stood up at Trelawney’s entrance, and they shook hands.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr Lawley,’ the inspector opened civilly.
‘Anything to help. I’ve told your Detective Sergeant Baker all I know, but if there’s anything else …’
‘Let’s see, shall we? There maybe some detail or other that comes to mind that could help. So, Mr Lawley, first of all, please could you describe to me your relationship with Miss Gibbs.’
‘I was her tutor, Inspector.’
‘I see. Were you also friends?’
‘Well, I like to think so. I do try to establish a rapport with my students.’
‘And did you have a rapport with Miss Gibbs, in particular?’
Lawley shook his head and protested,
‘I know what you’re thinking, Inspector. And extra-curricular relationships do unfortunately occur between students and college staff in many institutions, but I do assure you that, Samantha and I …’
Hm, thought Trelawney. A bit of white-washing was going on here. Samantha’s father had money. Was Lawley was an ambitious man? A tutor’s salary at a cash-strapped, down-on-its-luck college like Chalkstable, would likely be insufficient for his needs and wants. He was supplementing it with private tution. Lawley could unquestionably benefit from some of Damian's considerable wealth flowing in his direction via Samantha.
‘You were in no way, shall we say, “close”?’
‘Well, Samantha was a special student, certainly. Troubled and not easy to understand, and it so happened that I did understand her, and felt that I could help her get her life back on track. If I did — and I’m not saying that I did — overstep the mark at times, it was purely with that aim in view. I believe anyone with any insight into the situation would have said the same thing.’
The man was up against the ropes now. Trelawney imagined it must have been a delicate balancing act of no mean order. On the one hand, Lawley would have had to pander sufficiently to Samantha’s vanity to be suitably … attentive. And yet, at the same time, keep it sufficiently PG-13 to satisfy her father. Had Lawley slipped off the knife-edge? Had Samantha, having kissed, been about to tell?
Yet, to what end? What could Lawley have that she could want? Apart from tutoring and a distraction from boredom.
The inspector spoke mildly,
‘I am not accusing you of impropriety, Mr Lawley. I am simply attempting to establish the depth of your relationship with Miss Gibbs, in the hope that there may be insights you can offer.’
Lawley’s ruffled feathers smoothed somewhat.
‘Yes. Yes, of course … Well … what can I say?’
‘You mentioned that Miss Gibbs was “troubled”.’
‘Ah. Indeed. Due to some past misjudgements on Samantha’s part, her parents had taken what she regarded as Draconian measures regarding her finances. They felt that had been granting her the excessive freedom that they considered was facilitating her …’
‘Her …?’
‘Engagement with persons a college student would not normally encounter,’ Simon finished vaguely.
‘Would not normally encounter because …?’
‘Because of being too limited financially to frequent the kinds of places people of … status would be found. Unless with one of her parents, of course.’
‘Yes, I see. And how were these Draconian measures affecting Miss Gibbs emotionally, would you say, Mr Lawley?’
‘Well … she was frustrated, offended at being treated like a child, as she would say — would have said — bored, wanting to get back at her parents in some way perhaps. If I were speaking of a much younger teenager, I would be tempted to use the word “petulant”. But you must understand, Inspector,’ Simon hurried on, ‘that Samantha did have another side to her. She could be sweet and understanding, she could listen to a person in a way … that was accepting; nothing could shock her. But she had been very much indulged, and that isn’t always the best thing for … young people.’
‘Indeed. And would you say that her emotional state could have led her into undesirable company or actions?’
‘As to company, I doubt it, not here, not that I know anyone in the village, but … well, I ask you … in Sunken Madley? Undesirable company?’
‘Have you any idea what Samantha Gibbs was doing in the basement of the library?’
‘None whatsoever. It's been all I could do to get her into the college library, let alone the stacks in a place like this.’
‘Could she have been meeting someone?’
‘I suppose it’s possible. But whom? Who would she have known in Sunken Madley that she couldn’t have met here or … or in the local pub or tea shop?’
‘I must ask this, simply as a formality, Mr Lawley. Was it you Samantha Gibbs was meeting or planning to meet in the basement of Sunken Madley Library on the day of her demise?’
Simon Lawley raised his chin slightly and looked squarely at Trelawney.
‘No, Inspector, it was not.’
After a pause, the man spoke again, more gently.
‘You know, Inspector, the dean has kindly allowed Pamela and me leave to stay on here at The Grange to be available for the police to interview. But we are going to have to return to the college at some point.’
‘Yes, I am aware of that.’
‘Also, off the record, the dean needs this to be cleared up as soon as possible. The connection to the college …’
‘I understand, Mr Lawley.’
***
The interview at an end, Simon excused himself, and Trelawney walked along the hall to the small dining-room. It was currently unoccupied. Miss Cadabra, he concluded, must be in ballroom and that familiar of hers with her, thank goodness. He went to the window and gazed out at the white overcast February sky.
Lawley. There was a connection to the murder. He felt it, knew it and now … the streamers of lights appearing before his eyes, and Lawley and Samantha’s racing rivers crossing with the subdued explosion of connection. He saw, not what it was, but the certainty that it was there. As yet hidden. The link would emerge in time, but time was in increasingly short supply now. Thomas was mindful of Mike’s urgent words on the phone.
He heard Moffat’s voice speaking in the hall outside the small dining-room. The man entered, greeted Trelawney and laid a tray of tea and toasted, lavishly melting-buttered crumpets on a small sideboard. As the butler withdrew, Amanda appeared, stripping off her blue vinyl gloves.
‘Hello, Inspector. Oo, crumpets! How did it go?’
‘On the surface, not much of a harvest and yet … there is a connection. Simon Lawley is somehow linked to the events of the afternoon at the library.’
‘We just can’t see it?’
‘Yet. But we have to see it soon. Very soon.’
Chapter 28
Intelligence HQ
Trelawney was now spending every waking moment on the case. If he wasn’t grabbing a sandwich, heating up and quickly eating whatever dinner his mother had thoughtfully left in the fridge for him, or getting a few hours of much-needed sleep, he was on the case. Whether he was interviewing, re-interviewing, making his way through reports, writing, researching, coordinating with his team, reading or re-reading the available evidence, he worked late into the night. Trelawney was trying, against the clock, to unravel the tangled threads of the mystery of Samantha Gibbs’s untimely end.
It was lunchtime. Thomas needed a break and some sustenance. He looked around the library, peering over the display stands that formed the barrier between the Situation Room and public access areas. Unusually, neither Nikolaides nor Baker, nor even any uniformed team members, were visible. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to do the one thing he’d managed so far to
avoid: visit Sunken Madley’s Intelligence HQ. Otherwise known as The Corner Shop.
‘Oo, look!’ cried Sylvia, as he entered. ‘It’s our inspector!’
‘Ladies, Dennis,’ Trelawney greeted the villagers civilly.
‘’Allo, stranger, we’ve missed you at the dance classes,’ said Joan,
‘Well, I really haven’t —’
‘Oh, we know ’ow ’ard you been workin’, dear,’ insisted Sylvia.
‘Trying to cleanse the stain from our village escutcheon. Good man,’ intoned Dennis heartily.
Trelawney rather thought they enjoyed the notoriety of the aforementioned stain, and would miss it if and when he did manage to eradicate it.
‘Inspector, how can I help you?’ Mrs Sharma asked him warmly.
‘Hello, Mrs Sharma. Please may I have a cheddar and pickle sandwich? I can’t see any in the chill cabinet.’
‘I have some in the back for you. I'll fetch a packet at once.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Sharma.’ As Nalini gracefully disappeared into the mysterious nether regions of the shop, Trelawney saw that the assembled company was looking at him expectantly.
‘How is everyone?’ he asked politely.
‘Hale and hearty, thank you, Inspector,’ replied Dennis jauntily.
’Oh bless you, we’re all well,’ responded Sylvia. ‘We just wish we could say as much for our Jonathan and Mrs Pagely. That upset they are. Poor Matty Pagely is beside herself, though she don’t show it.’
Joan took his arm and added in a lowered voice the entire shop could still hear comfortably, ‘And on another note, not wanting to appear unfeeling —’
‘Callous,’ chipped in Dennis.
‘Or hard-hearted,’ contributed Sylvia.
‘But …,’ continued Joan, ‘there is the matter of the Equinox Ball at The Grange coming up.’
Sylvia took Trelawney’s free arm and looked up at him with concern. ‘Your Amanda is working so ’ard on the piano to ’ave it ready, and the ballroom too.’
‘She’s not m—’
‘You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Miss Cadabra now would you, Inspector?’ asked Joan kindly.
‘She not my —’
‘But we know!’ enjoined Dennis. ‘We have absolute confidence that you can uncover the truth of this sad business.’
Ding!
‘’Allo, Gordon,’ Sylvia led the greeting as Mr French, former head of Sunken Madley School entered.
‘Hello, one and all. And especially to our Man of the Moment. Ah, Inspector,’ said French shaking Trelawney’s hand. ‘We consider ourselves fortunate to have you here in our hour of greatest need. The village is counting on you.’
‘It’s my belief …,’ began Joan.
Ding!
‘Hello, Rector,’ they chorused.
‘Hello, everyone.’
‘I was just about to say, it’s my belief, and my Jim says the same, as that Samantha brought her trouble with her, as people do. That Mr Lawley.’
‘Nonsense!’ objected Mr Handley-Page.
‘Now I know, Dennis, that he can do no wrong on account of his car, but the fact is —’
‘He's not Village,’ insisted Gordon French.
‘That girl were a lost soul, for sure, and who’s to say she didn’t bring a wrong ’un with ’er?’ asked Sylvia.
‘Now, now,’ intervened the rector. ‘Let us not speak ill of the dead or our visitors. Surely no good can come of such speculation. Let us leave that to the very able professional with whom we are blessed,’ Jane added pacifically, looking up at the inspector.
‘Thank you, Rector,’ responded Trelawney, returning her smile.
‘Oh, of course, it’s for you to work out and we know you shall,’ agreed Joan enthusiastically.
‘We all want to be of assistance, though, naturally, Inspector,’ explained Dennis.
‘Indeed,’ contributed French sonorously. ‘And I second the rector’s wise words. I have never subscribed to idle gossip. However, in the interests of furthering your endeavours, Inspector, we would suggest, for your consideration … reluctant as we are to implicate by so much as a hint, a friend of Miss de Havillande’s family —’
‘However remote,’ added Joan.
‘Have you considered the young lady? Pamela?’
‘Piffle!’ declared Dennis, ‘She’s a nice little thing.’
‘She seems to be,’ returned Gordon French, ‘but who can tell what lies beneath?’
‘Indeed, Inspector, I do have to agree on that point,’ chimed in the rector.
‘Oo, I know what you’re remembering, Rector,’ concurred Joan. ‘There was that Imogen Fennel. There she was, meek as a church mouse,’
‘She was very helpful with the flowers, even though hardly anyone ever visits our church,’ admitted Jane, charitably.
‘Except for the stained-glass windows,’ insisted Joan. ‘Ever so popular with art students they are.’
‘And it’s packed out on special days, Inspector, as you know,’ offered Sylvia.
Dennis shook his head sorrowfully. ‘The sweetest girl.’
‘Or so we thought,’ came Gordon French’s cautionary note.
‘Until …,’ said Sylvia portentously.
‘Until,’ continued Joan, ‘she tried to make off with the offertory box!’
‘And with the baker’s apprentice from up the road in Romping-in-the-Heye!’ added Sylvia.
‘And him engaged to someone else!’ finished Joan.
‘You never can tell,’ stated Dennis in summary.
‘Then,’ Gordon French returned to the mystery at hand, ‘have you considered the people in Little Madley at the Asthma Centre. They’re not Village, you know.’
‘Except for Bill,’ pointed out Sylvia, ‘bless ‘is heart.’
‘But the others aren’t. Neither, to be fair, are the Hillands, really,’ said Dennis. ‘Relative newcomers.’
‘And Ryan. And John too, for that matter,’ added Joan regretfully.
‘What do we really know about them?’ asked Sylvia.
‘About any of these people?’ reiterated Gordon French.
Joan, however, breezily dispelled the gloom with a hearty, ‘But we're sure you’ll get to the bottom of it all.’
‘Oh yes, you will, Inspector. How is Amanda bearing up under this cloud?’ enquired Joan solicitously.
‘She seems … very well,’ Trelawney replied carefully.
‘So fortunate to have you here to support her,’ remarked Dennis. ‘I’m sure it means a great deal.’
‘I’m sure Miss Cadabra is well able to cope,’ the inspector moderated.
‘Ah yes, we all agree she is quite wonderful,’ put in Dennis.
‘We’re so glad,’ added Gordon French.
‘Yes, glad you appreciate her,’ explained Joan.
Trelawney looked anxiously toward the back of the shop. ‘Ah. Right, Well, I must be getting back.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Dennis.
‘The progress of justice …’ added French.
‘Yes, as soon as Mrs Sharma returns with my lunch.’
Ding!
‘Oo, look here she is!’ cried Sylvia with delight. ‘Your Miss Cadabra!’
Amanda took in the situation at a glance and greeted her neighbours, gently removing Joan and Sylvia’s restraining arms from Trelawney’s. She smiled up at the inspector with amused sympathy.
‘Aunty!’ she called. Mrs Sharma reappeared, bearing two cheese and pickle sandwiches. As Trelawney thankfully paid, Sylvia drew Amanda’s arm though Trelawney’s and patted it.
Nalini reached below the counter and handed a bag to Amanda.
‘Your Seafood & Eat it Potted Cornish Crab. No, you’ve already given me the money, dear.’
‘Thank you, Aunty. See you all later. Let’s get the inspector back to his Situation Room.’
They exchanged farewells, and Amanda led Trelawney o
ut into the safety of the street. As she withdrew her hand from his arm, he grinned down at her ruefully. ‘I can’t thank you enough for your daring rescue of me. They don’t let up, do they?’
‘No, as remorseless as wind and waves. But they mean well.’
‘I know. And it was interesting to hear their take on the suspect list. I’m going to ask Baker and Nikolaides to go over the background checks of everyone once more. Thank you again, Miss Cadabra.’
‘Not at all, Inspector. Is there any light at the end of the tunnel?’
‘Only in the ethereal form of hope, I am afraid.’
One good thing, however, did come out of Thomas’s unplanned visit to The Corner Shop. Thereafter, lunch mysteriously appeared each day, slipped under the display stands at 12.30. This was evidently precisely the time at which Jim, Joan’s husband, Alex and Sandy of The Big Tease, Frank of The Sinner’s Rue, Sandra of The Snout and Trough and Mrs Sharma of The Corner Shop considered he should be having a break and sustenance.
Trelawney knew the villagers well enough to recognize each of the kindly hands that prepared his daily midday meal. Anonymously imparted, they were offerings he could not and would not want to refuse. Once this was all over, resolved Thomas, he would thank them. That moment could not come soon enough for all concerned.
Chapter 29
Boiling Point
Five days later, Trelawney, Baker and Nikolaides eventually got an email response from KOMA. The Thai resort manager explained that it was not their policy to keep tabs on the guests.
‘They’re free to come and go as they please, visit the sights, and the nearest town or one further afield. I have made enquiries amongst the staff, but all we can say is that Mrs Loftleigh-Gibbs had no spa treatments booked in between the Tuesday and the Friday.’
‘Thank you for getting that much,’ Trelawney praised Nikolaides. ‘Did you check flights from Thailand to the UK?’
‘Yes sir, but her name wasn’t on any of the passenger manifests.’
