by Holly Bell
‘Any news on Mrs Hilland?’
‘Her prognosis is good. She didn’t have all that much of whatever was in her drink. And you said she took only a spoonful of the pudding. I’ve no doubt she’ll recover to face charges.’
They ate and drank in companionable silence for a while before Amanda spoke,
‘Thank you, by the way, for keeping DS Baker and DC Nikolaides outside when you first came into the salon. Did you think that maybe …?’
‘I wasn’t sure what I would find, Miss Cadabra. I thought it was possible that there could be a hostage situation, and yes, it did cross my mind that you may have been against the ropes with, er … magic as your last resort.’
‘You showed great foresight, Inspector.’
‘Thank you. Excellent pasty, by the way.’
‘Not quite worthy of Cornwall but close, would you say?’
‘I would.’ He put his tea on the table and stood up to take his tray out to the kitchen. ‘Shall I take yours too?’
‘Thank you. But I need to come out to take the pie out the oven. Oh, I do have one question.’
‘One more, don’t you mean?’ said Trelawney lightly, over his shoulder as they processed to the kitchen.
Amanda laughed, ‘Well yes … but what I’ve been wondering ...’ She somehow had the feeling that this was delicate ground. She bought some time by taking up her oven gloves and manoeuvring the pie onto a trivet to cool. She glanced up to see him leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at her expectantly. ‘You knew the poison was in the cake … How?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Because I saw it. In a bowl of water at the Centre, in the reflection.’
‘Ah! Like you could when you were a child? But this is … well … this could be very useful.’
‘I suppose so. Not exactly in the orthodox police armoury but, yes … it could … if I could do it at will. It happened completely out of the blue.’
‘You weren’t trying then?’
‘I wouldn’t even have thought of trying.’
Amanda decided the pie was cool enough and spooned it onto two plates.
‘Cream?’ she asked.
‘Please.’
Once they were back in the sitting-room, cautiously tasting the steaming pudding, Amanda ventured to suggest,
‘Might it be something worthwhile, somehow, developing … do you think?’
‘Ah, so we’d both be using witchcraft to solve crimes?’ he replied with a touch of acerbity.
‘It’s a gift, Inspector. It might help if you didn’t label it as sorcery or one of the dark arts!’
He laughed. ‘Indeed. Something to consider, certainly … You have to give me time, Miss Cadabra. I am still trying to get used to all this … magic.’
‘Of course, Inspector. Have some more cream.’ This final word partially roused her familiar who opened one amber eye. ‘You must admit,’ continued Amanda, ‘magic does have its uses.’
That was undeniable, thought Tempest. He had never particularly admired humans’ gift for stating the obvious. But then again, he had never particularly admired humans. Except possibly as a sort of zoological curiosity.
Chapter 43
In Black
The next morning, Amanda, at Mrs Pagely’s request, visited Sunken Madley Library. She was welcomed with open arms,
‘My dear, thank you so very much for letting me know. I don’t quite understand Jonathan’s explanation of how you found the true culprit, but I wanted to thank you and the inspector for everything you have done.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Pagely.’ Amanda returned her hug warmly.
The librarian nodded in the direction of the Situation Room, now being dismantled.
‘He’s over there, if you’d like to see him.’
‘Jonathan?’
‘Your inspector.’
‘He’s not …’
But Amanda had been spotted by Baker who was giving her a cheery salute. She went over. Nikolaides was wheeling one of the display stands back to its usual home and offered a friendly greeting.
‘You’re packing up, then?’ asked Amanda.
‘Hello, Miss Cadabra,’ called Trelawney from the table, where he was typing on his laptop. He stopped and got up, stretching his back. ‘Yes, about time Mrs Pagely got her library back.’
‘All done and dusted?’
‘Far from it. Reports to write, all of the aftermath admin. More to the point, loose ends.’
‘Really?’
He lowered his voice. ‘There’s something Ford isn’t telling us, ditto Bailey-Farrell, ditto Gibbs. And then there’s the Cardiubarn van business. My father has managed to get Pasco Flamgoyne partly on our side. I have to follow up progress from the lead he gave us, while he’s still warm enough to be questioned further, if necessary.’
‘Progress?’
‘Yes. Look I’ll tell you about that presently, Miss Cadabra. Give me a couple of days to make headway with the Hilland paperwork, if you will.’
‘Of course.’
‘Cooee!’ came Joan the postlady’s voice. She was handing Mrs Pagely the letters and packets for the library. ‘Inspector, there you are.’
‘Hello, Joan,’ he greeted her with a smile as she approached.
‘First of all,’ she said, handing him a small blue round Huntley and Palmers cake tin, ‘these are from my Jim, some shortcake, baked fresh this morning, as a little thank you from us both. Not that a little one will do, after what you done for our Mrs Pagely and the village.’
Once, Trelawney would have said it was his job. But this was Joan and Sunken Madley and Amanda’s home and his honorary one, so instead, he spoke from the heart,
‘My pleasure.’
‘There now. Will we see you back at the dance class on Saturdays now? We’re still at the Snout and Trough. Vanessa is still teaching us. Be nice to see you,’ Joan enquired hopefully. Vanessa, sister of proprietor Sandra, was a successful personal trainer who had taken a shine to Trelawney.
‘Not this Saturday. I have rather a lot on, but the following weekend, yes, I shall do my very best to see you all again.’
It turned out to be a great deal sooner.
The next day, the black-bordered invitations arrived. Hogarth advised Thomas to turn up, and Amanda too. Not that she would have far to travel.
Damian Gibbs had been prepared to go to war over this one. The Loftleighs, inevitably, had insisted Samantha’s remains be committed to the family mausoleum in the grounds of Spireworth House. Damian had stated that his daughter would, instead, be committed to the churchyard at Upper Muttring, where his parents had been laid to rest and in which village he had been happy as a boy.
To everyone’s surprise, Damian got his way. Although, some weeks later, he was seen to have made a concession to the Loftleighs.
Out of respect for Gibbs, all in Sunken Madley who had, or could get, time off turned up at the small church. Being so close, naturally, many of the Upper Muttring inhabitants were friends and acquaintances of the villagers. Consequently, in spite of best endeavours to maintain a suitably grave demeanour, the occasion showed lamentable tendencies to become something of a merry party.
Out in the mild churchyard sunshine, Moffat was standing with his sister, a Muttring resident. Miss de Havillande and Miss Armstrong-Witworth had graced the event. They were chatting to Jane, the rector of Sunken Madley’s St Ursula-without-Barnet. Beside that edifice, the little ecclesiastic precincts of St Miriam Umbal, in which they now stood, would have been dwarfed. With Churchill wandering peacefully among the headstones, Cynthia beckoned Amanda and Trelawney. They strolled over and exchanged greetings.
From afar, Miss de Havillande was regarding Veronica Loftleigh-Gibbs with a certain amount of satisfaction.
‘She’s had to put that showy house of hers on the market,’ she informed her small audience. ‘Oh yes, now that the child is no longer in the picture, she’s had her last groat out of
Gibbs, and I say good luck to him. Gratifying to see someone getting a taste of their just desserts. That woman and her father played no small part in bringing young Samantha to her sticky end.’
‘Of course,’ added Miss Armstrong-Witworth pacifically, ‘Everyone is responsible for their own actions.’
‘True, Gwendolen,’ agreed Cynthia. ‘Nevertheless, whatever her faults, Samantha Gibbs was under my roof and Pamela’s best friend: that made her one of my people. And it’s my belief that if Veronica and Lofty hadn’t got their hooks into her, that child would still be alive today.’
‘Really, Cynthia,’ moderated Jane, ‘given the sad occasion, perhaps we should be a little charitable towards Mrs Loftleigh-Gibbs.’
Miss de Havillande chuckled softly. ‘That’s what we rely upon you for, dear Rector. However, you mean me, of course. And perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should be more charitable towards the bereaved mother … But not today.’
In accordance with Hogarth’s instructions, Amanda and Trelawney made sure Gibbs and Veronica registered their presence. Hands shaken, condolences expressed, and thanks received, Trelawney led Amanda away.
‘You know,’ she remarked. ‘I’d like to come back here when it’s quiet. To pay my respects.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ he agreed.
‘And there’s another thing. I must admit that I was hoping the murderer was Veronica. The Loftleighs have, I gather, done so many dreadful things and got away with them, it would have been nice to pin something on one of them that they couldn’t wangle their way out of. It almost feels like … unfinished business.’
‘Hm, if only justice were always that even-handed, Miss Cadabra. Although, in my experience, what my grandmother always says is generally the rule: what goes around comes around.’
Once they were a safe distance from any of the other attendees, Trelawney spoke more urgently. ‘Right. That’s done. I need to talk to you. I wish I could give you some recovery time, but I’m afraid I can’t let the grass grow.’
Amanda looked at him questioningly with a measure of concern. Some ten minutes later, furnished with tea and toast, Trelawney got down to business.
‘The Cardiubarn case.’
‘How grand that sounds,’ responded Amanda. ‘Yes, the vexed question of how your ghastly family knew the means, time and place to bump off my ghastly family.’
‘Rather more entertainingly put,’ he agreed. ‘But we have a new lead.’
Trelawney told her about his confidential informant — without revealing it was his own Gran Flossie — who had, some 30 years ago, seen Hedrok Flamgoyne sitting in his car with a woman in black.
‘His hands and lips moved as he looked straight at your informant? Yes, it does sound very like he did put a forgetting spell on them,’ Amanda confirmed.
‘But does the description mean anything to you?’
‘Fair hair, black coat, in her thirties? Well … no.’
‘Anyone your grandparents might have mentioned or shown you a photo of over the years?’
‘It’s too vague, and you know I’m not that good with faces, at the best of times. Look, why don’t you tell me exactly what your source said, word for word, if you can?’
‘Certainly.’ The inspector got out his police notebook, flicked through to the relevant page and began reading aloud:
‘CI: Then a woman came from the other end of Slipper Way. I remembered her. She had this hair like there was sunshine in it and a black raincoat on and a hat that couldn’t hide all that hair.’
Me: ‘Did you know her?’
CI: ‘Not personally, but being an artist, I’d always noticed her hair.’
Me: ‘Her name?’
CI: ‘I’ve been trying to remember … Elizabeth … I’m pretty sure I’m right about that. Elizabeth … and her surname … a Cornish word. Stret? Street? Hyns … path … Road, no … Perhaps it’ll come back to me.’
Trelawney closed the book and looked hopefully at Amanda.
‘How strange,’ she mused. ‘That Nans Breha business has shaken something loose in my mind … Would you please read all that again?’
He obliged, then waited in silence to let Amanda think. After a few moments, she spoke ponderingly,
‘Hair … sunshine … Stret, hyns … road …. Oh!’ She gasped and looked at him with eyes round with surprise.
‘Yes?’
‘I think I know … I think …. And it starts to make sense …’
‘Please do go on, Miss Cadabra.’
‘The first time I met him, I noticed his hair. It was a fine day, and I thought he had sunny locks, sunshine hair …’
‘Who? Blond? That’s not so unusual, surely?’
‘No, but coupled with the name … and knowing how the Flamgoynes and the Cardiubarns operated …’
‘The name?’ asked Trelawney.
‘It was there all along. Your informant actually said it.’
‘Yes?’
‘Road. The Cornish word for road is … fordh!’ explained Amanda.
‘Fordh. Ford. Elizabeth Ford. Had a husband and a baby. Yes, I see: blackmail. If Flamgoyne held her to ransom over the safety of her child, she would surely have felt compelled to comply with whatever he required of her.’
‘Exactly.’ Amanda shuddered. ‘More blackmail. It seems to be wherever we look at the moment. And then … what if it worked both ways?’
‘They held the child, now grown up, to ransom over the safety of his parents?’
‘Makes sense. Ryan said he grew up on the coast — although I’m sure Mr French said he was born in Portsmouth. But he did say he and his parents moved around a lot. Perhaps they were on the run from the Flamgoynes,’ suggested Amanda.
‘We need to know exactly what Elizabeth Ford’s role was. If she did indeed swap in those poisonous letters, she would be an accessory to multiple murders.’
‘Unless she didn’t know they were dangerous, and she was acting under duress surely? And if so, is it fair to pin it all on her just because she’s the last person alive who was involved at the time?’ Amanda appealed.
‘Hm, duress is a borderline plea when it comes to murder. I need to take advice before proceeding on this one.’ Trelawney got out his phone. ‘But well done, Miss Cadabra, well done. It’s pretty much speculation, though, until we can interview the Fords — excuse me. — Hello, Mike? Yes, a shaft of daylight on the cold case. Miss Cadabra remembered the Cornish word for road … in conjunction with the significance of blonde hair, and a family that moved around a lot.’
‘Ah … Missing link?’
‘Yes. First name, monarch,’ Trelawney added.
‘Got it. Yes, a consultation is in order. This needs to be in person,’ said Mike. ‘Right. Amelia’s, 8 o’clock.’
Chapter 44
Getting Closer
‘I’ve been on a secure line to Maxwell, among others,’ said Hogarth. ‘Thank you,’ he added to Amelia, who was placing a cup of tea at his elbow. ‘Assuming that it was Elizabeth Ford who is the missing link, it has been decided to do no more than confirm her involvement. The essential thing is that a case where the instrument of death was magical does not come to court.’
Amelia distributed the rest of the refreshments to Amanda and Trelawney, before sitting down with them, at the round table. Mike Hogarth continued,
‘A plea of ignorance regarding what was in the letters that she sent out to the Cardiubarns and that she acted under duress, would likely excuse Mrs Ford’s participation. Given the character of the Flamgoynes especially, it is unlikely that their threats against her child were idle.
‘Therefore Thomas, you have two jobs: to confirm Elizabeth Ford is actually Elizabeth Fordh and the missing link and, vitally, to construct your report in such a way that magic plays no part in it whatsoever.’
Trelawney thought for a moment. ‘If I substituted enchanted ink and paper with carbon monoxide, would I be able to get backu
p from the evidence?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure the post-mortem findings could be somehow … reinterpreted.’
‘All right. The official story, then, will be: the van carrying the Cardiubarns was sabotaged, by person or persons unknown, routing the carbon monoxide into the interior of the vehicle. On paper, that removes Mrs Ford entirely.’
‘Good enough. Off the record though, I still want the truth, Thomas,’ Mike said firmly. ‘Use whatever resources you have to get it.’
‘Ah. Understood.’
‘You’ll have to tread your way carefully to Elizabeth,’ Hogarth cautioned. The Fords are a couple who are good at disappearing.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Oldbury. Midlands’
‘Hm … yes … softly, softly, it is. Very well. I shall begin with one of my resources. Or rather,’ Trelawney added, looking at Amanda, ‘one of yours.’
‘They’ve been clammed up until now,’ she answered, ‘but they might be more forthcoming since we’ve got this far.’
‘We need to know exactly what Elizabeth Fordh’s role was. So … time to see some dead people —’
‘Tra—,’ began Amanda.
‘Sorry … transitioned!’
***
Amanda had set them up with tea and saffron cake, just like her grandparents’ other-dimensional treat. Alex from The Big Tease had made the Cornish delicacy to Perran’s family recipe.
The Cadabras senior were seated in the armchairs opposite the sofa. They were stirring milk and sugar into their tea, when Trelawney arrived.
‘Always such a pleasure,’ said Senara, mischievously. ‘But I can see you’re champing at the bit, so enough of the small talk. Fire away, Inspector.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Cadabra. Please could you tell us, who, or rather what, was Elizabeth Fordh?’
‘The solicitor I used. But you already know that she was a solicitor, of course.’
‘You said the solicitor was a man.’
‘I said no such thing,’ riposted Senara with a measure of glee. ‘You called him a “man of business”. And you a twenty-first century male. Tut, tut.’
